


Wilds

by network



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: F/F, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:00:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29986707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/network/pseuds/network
Summary: An old fic that I was rewriting but kinda gave up on, so I thought I'd post the old (complete) version again.Basically follows the player guardian and Suraya Hawthorne through the old Red War campaign and rebuilding the City.
Relationships: Cayde-6/Zavala (Destiny), Female Guardian/Suraya Hawthorne
Kudos: 1





	Wilds

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Wilds](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18183527) by [network](https://archiveofourown.org/users/network/pseuds/network). 



Perched on a small rock outcropping, Hawthorne watches the scene playing out below her with an unusual detachment.

It’s been days since Louis had flown off, back when the small fleet of ships she can see being prepared below was just a single, lone ship – hers, the _Wanderwing_ \- back when she’d started putting out messages on every channel she could access, calling any survivors here. Soon they’ll be making their way onward, to carve out a new home in what remains, and a nagging voice in the back of her head reminds her that he might not be back by then. At that she frowns, worrying her lower lip between her teeth. He’s never been the type to run off.

At that very moment, as if summoned, she’s broken out of her reverie by a loud, shrill bird’s call from above. Louis circles overhead, landing on her outstretched arm and looking up at her with expectation.

“Where the hell have you been?” she asks him, voice low and sharp. By way of response he simply takes off again, landing on a barren tree branch nearby and shifting from foot to foot, clearly waiting for her to follow.

With a sigh, she turns to face the small mix of people below, and one man in particular. “Hey, Dev?” She calls out, and he looks up at her, a tanned, calloused hand coming up to shield his eyes from the late-evening sun. “I need to check up on something quickly. You alright to take charge here?”

A questioning glance and unsure nod are sent her way, and with that she follows Louis into the mountains.

It’s not long before he stops, swooping down to settle on a fallen rock, cawing at her to gain her attention. At his feet there’s a corpse – no, not a corpse, but an unconscious woman, sprawled out from where she’d clearly fallen from the narrow cliff ledges above.

She’s about to rush forward to help when she notices the small drone anxiously flitting around the figure, scanning her with weak beams of flickering blue light.

_A Guardian. Of fucking course._

Her jaw sets on instinct, muscles tensing up in righteous upset, and she has to work to relax them, only stepping forward once she’s sure her anger is at least manageable. By that point the Guardian has stirred, attempting to get up only to fall in a heap of limbs on her knees. On trembling legs the woman once again attempts to stand, until Hawthorne steps forward, hand outstretched.

When she pulls the Guardian to her feet, she has to bite back an insult, instead opting to get a good look at her. She’s tall, remarkably so- standing a good half-metre above Hawthorne, with a lithe but sturdy build. From the cracks and tears in her black undersuit and armour she can see swathes of dull, blue-green skin, like the oceans off the Northern coasts that she one day hopes to see. An off-white cloak hangs from her shoulders and flutters in the breeze, dirtied but in remarkably good condition. The Guardian turns to face her, and through a dramatic split in her helmet Hawthorne notices a tired amber eye watching her with an attempt at caution that ends up only resolutely apathetic.

“Things must be really bad if someone’s leaving a perfectly good Guardian just lying around.” She comments, anger bleeding through into her tone. At that, the woman shrinks back in a clear mix between bewilderment and defensiveness, and something in Hawthorne softens, feeling sorry for her, despite her less than positive opinions on her kind. Ignoring her conflicted emotions, she turns, ready to leave the Guardian to do whatever it is that Guardians do, when the little drone – _Ghosts_ , they’re called, if she remembers correctly – nervously floats towards her a little, almost like how a human would take a tentative step forward.

“Wait w- where are you going?” His voice is quiet, cracked and hoarse and overrun by a dull static sound. A slight breeze picks up around them and although it’s hardly enough to lift the ends of her poncho, the Ghost visibly struggles against the slight wind. She can’t help but pity him.

“Anywhere but here.” Is her clipped response, as Louis decides that he wants to re-join the conversation and swoops down between Guardian and Ghost to alight onto her gauntlet.

“That falcon... it- it belongs to you?” The Ghost asks, scarred voice strangely tinted with a hopefulness that certainly hadn’t been there before.

Briefly she wonders why he cares, but she responds anyway. “His name is Louis, he’s the best pilot we have. And I’m Suraya Hawthorne.” Usually she wouldn’t tell a stranger her forename but there’s just _something_ about these two. She quickly adds- “But call me Hawthorne…You two?”

She expects the Guardian to speak, but instead her Ghost does for her. “She’s Taevas, Taevas Sinine.” He pauses, as if expecting her to have some reaction to that name, but at her blank stare he continues. “And I’m Unelma, her Ghost. It’s- uh, it’s nice to meet you?”

With one last critical look at the Guardian, she turns again, already walking back to the rendezvous point.

“If you want to make yourself useful, follow me.” She calls out behind her, phrased like a question when she already knows the Guardian’s answer.

The other woman jogs to catch up with her, and they spend most of the journey in silence. Well, nobody audibly talks – the Guardian and her Ghost keep glancing over at her and then back to eachother, clearly silently discussing. Finally, the Ghost speaks up, with yet another question.

“You’re not a Guardian, are you?” It’s an innocent enough question, clearly asked in earnest, but regardless it pushes every one of Hawthorne’s buttons.

Almost through gritted teeth, she responds. “Is that a problem?”

“No, I-“. He’s cut off by a hand signal from his Guardian, noticing that they’ve reached the small camp. Hawthorne bites down her anger and directs her to help load the last few supplies onto the ships. With an uncertain frown she shrugs off the questioning glance she gets from Devrim and starts leading everyone into take-off procedures.

It’s time to find themselves a new home.

The Guardian, she finds, is incredibly quiet. Silent, even.

When they arrive at the Farm, as she’s already decided to name it, it’s the Guardian’s Ghost that does all the talking for his partner. It’s him that notices the Shard and tells the Guardian, him that insists to Hawthorne that they must go to the Shard, and it’s him that argues with her when she discourages him.

“The Shard is a place of death.” She warns him, and it’s true. Years back, when Dev had finally accepted that she was truly leaving the City, he’d warned her that the Shard of the Traveler is the one place that she must not go. And she’s heeded that advice. After all, it’s been poisoning the area around it for centuries, turning the place into the aptly named Dark Forest.

“You don’t understand –“ He tells her, shell whirring when she affixes him with a look of ‘ _try me_ ’. “We’re being led there like we were led to you. There’s something there that the Traveler wants us to find, and it’s never led us astray before.”

She almost makes a remark about the state of Humanity and the City, but holds back when she notices the Guardian watching them from across the Farm. As the Guardian starts approaching, the Ghost heads off towards her, nudging tiredly against the side of his partner’s helmet.

“So,” she starts, turning to face them. “your Ghost told me that you’re thinking of going to visit the Shard.” The Ghost and Guardian share a look and the latter nods. “I’d advise you against it, but I presume you won’t listen, considering your Ghost doesn’t. Oh well,” She shrugs. “I know a lot about following your gut, same as Louis.”

Louis shifts at the mention of his name, and she smiles a little. “Take the Wanderwing, the ship you came here on… Least it’ll get you back quick.”

The Guardian turns to leave, and Hawthorne feels the need to speak her mind for some stupid reason. “I haven’t lost anyone yet. Don’t you be my first.” She turns out to watch the Wilds and she can feel the eyes focused on the back of her head for a few moments before they’re gone.

She watches as the Guardian heads towards the ship, and soon her Ghost’s voice kicks through on the comms. She does her best to dissuade them still, but her continued warnings fall on deaf ears as they head towards possibly the one place in the Dead Zone that she hasn’t explored.

Suddenly, the comms cut out to static, and she curses. Whatever’s happening out there, she won’t know until the Guardian returns – _if_ she returns.

The evening gives way into the night, and the usual hustle of the Farm quietens down to the Zone’s background ambience and the occasional rustle of a tarp or quiet murmuring of a conversation. Louis butts his head against her palm as she absent-mindedly pets him, her brain still actively focusing on Sinine’s absence.

She knows she shouldn’t worry over the Guardian. Even Lightless as she knows her to be, she can still hold her ground, years of combat training and experience likely still effective in these less than ideal conditions. However, she hadn’t lied when she’d told the Guardian to not be her first loss. While she’d never claim a duty of care over a _Guardian_ , essentially an _immortal space warrior_ , Sinine is still a Farm citizen now. She’s one of Hawthorne’s people now. And if there’s one thing she can do well, it’s worry over the safety of her people.

Biting her lip, she gathers up the various reports and documents scattered across the table in front of her and leaves them in a slightly more organised pile, before leaving the barn temporarily acting as a command centre. She scales the outer walls to the broken roof and flattens herself against the uneven surface until she feels at least a little secure.

Suraya turns to the dark star-filled sky and sighs, eyes closing as a cold breeze carries the edges of her poncho into the air. All the anxieties she manages to suppress under her daytime responsibilities come to the surface of her mind now, and she finds herself unable to do much to get them away.

It isn’t just Sinine’s radio silence that has her on edge: the past day has been nothing but a whirlwind of surprises, and she’s still not sure whether any of those surprises are positive. She had gone from a regular drop of stolen supplies to suddenly leading what can only be described as a resistance – the last survival effort that’s been made as far as they know, and this sudden and unexpected escalation isn’t exactly great for her mental state.

She’s almost always avoided people after her “self-imposed” exile, and to an extent before then, for what she believes to be a good reason. Most people were good-natured, knowing that communal strength and prosperity drastically outweighs what one can achieve on their own, but her distrust mainly stems from her experiences with the upper echelons of civilised society.

Her _history_ with Hideo is probably the most glaring of examples, but her disgust at the disconnect of the elite - of their greed and damage and subjacatory nature – was built up over years and years of her childhood. Even the arrival of Dev and Marc in her life and the unconditional love and support they provided her with did little to offset the horrors she’d seen.

So here, surrounded by people, she’s justifiably on edge. Not that she doesn’t feel the need to protect these people – none of them are Hideo or any of the Factionites for one, and next to none of them would be able to survive out there in the dead-zone, her _heartland,_ but the constant presence of anything other than Louis, her rifle and the Wilds is something that will probably take some time to adjust to.

Her thoughts are once again interrupted by the loud whirring of a ship’s engine. She’s not expecting any new arrivals, especially not at this late hour, but she glances up regardless, expecting to see a typical freighter or cargo ship.

Instead, it’s the Wanderwing, the ship she gave to the Guardian for her stint out to the Shard. She tries to tell herself it’s instinct, or perhaps surprise that she actually survived, that forces her body upright so quickly that she almost topples off the roof entirely. She scales down the barn’s walls to reach the Guardian, and she seems _different_ when Suraya reaches her.

She’s as silent as ever, sure, but Hawthorne swears that there’s an ever-so-slight _glow_ to her body, and the slump of fatigue she’d worn like a cloak since they met is entirely gone. Her Ghost flies excitedly around her shoulders, chatting endlessly and with increasing speed about how ‘alive he feels’, and how ‘amazing this is’, and Suraya comes to a sudden realisation when the Guardian notices her and lifts her helmet off for the first time.

“You got your Light back.”

Hawthorne had never truly intended to involve the Guardian – _Sinine_ – in the Farm’s management, but in retrospect, it would be difficult to exclude her. The transition of Sinine only running missions to being one of the leading figures at the Farm was a rather organic and inevitable process, more so than Suraya had expected, though it was obvious that her presence inspired, and continues to inspire, hope in the people of the Farm.

However natural the process has been, Suraya still _hates_ it.

It took her weeks to earn the level of respect that Sinine had acquired almost instantly, through various leadership challenges, questions about her ability and biting comments about her character, while the Guardian just rolled up and people instantly respected her, despite her and her kind’s monumental failure at City-fall. The refugees look to the Guardian with a sort of inherent respect and deference, trusting her with their lives.

Suraya doesn’t blame Sinine, really – she’s made no move to claim more power or responsibility than she is given and seems perfectly happy to take orders from both her and Devrim, yet she can’t help but be angry. And as the logical part of her brain absolves Sinine from any wrongdoing, Suraya aims her anger inward.

After all, who can fault the people of the City for not wanting her as a leader? She’s an outcast, criminal, exile. She’s the opposite of Sinine – hero, protector, saviour. Guardians, and _the_ Guardian, in particular, represent hope and protection for the people, and in comparison, she sees herself to be nothing more than a child wearing shoes far too big for her.

Before she can stew on her insecurities for too long, however, the source of her anxieties transmatts into the Farm’s main plaza below. Suraya watches with tired eyes as various civilians smile at her, praise her, borderline _hero-worship_ her. A young child even runs up to her for a hug and to show her the gun-shaped stick she’d found. The Guardian never responds, but even from here Suraya can see the small smiles she offers instead.

Something sinks in her stomach. The distinct feeling of _dread_ wells up within her.

Sinine notices her watching and slowly peels away from the main crowds (and how strange, she thinks, that the Farm is now populous enough to have _crowds_ ) and climbs the stairs to Suraya’s perch. She presumes that the Guardian simply wants to report the status of her last mission, or have her Ghost report it for her, but instead there’s just an awkward moment of silence.

Finally, Suraya speaks up. “So, what’d you want to talk about?” The Guardian opens her mouth to speak, before making a frustrated face and summoning Unelema, making some strange hand gestures to her Ghost. These must mean something to the two of them, as he starts speaking.

“Devrim told her that you’re probably worried about us taking control of the Farm from you.”

Suraya cocks her head to the side, questioningly – _did he now?_ – before making a sort of undignified snorting sound. This startles the Guardian a little, apparently. “You already are. People see you as more of a leader than they do me, but you can’t be faulted for that. It’s to be expected I guess.”

Sinine sidles closer a little and makes more gestures to her companion, who translates them once again. “We’re just fighters. Soldiers. Cannon fodder, in some people’s eyes. You’re the spirit behind this place, and people see that.” Hawthorne rolls her eyes and goes to retort, but the Ghost apparently isn’t done. “To be truly honest, we’re not really sure what we’re doing. We just follow the Traveler’s guidance, and, well, the Traveler led us to you.”

She laughs bitterly. How can they not understand? It’s a pretty simple and provable concept. “Louis led you to me and me to you, not some cosmic force.”

The Ghost’s eye rolls in what she can only read as frustration, but the Guardian cuts him off with a little shushing gesture. She makes a peculiar noise like something is stuck in her throat, before pulling out a datapad and typing out a message.

“I represent war. You represent humanity.”

Suraya pauses for a moment, avoiding eye contact, and all but admitting defeat in her body language. “You’re still a better leader. A natural leader.”

Sinine huffs, one of the first distinct sounds she’s heard from the Guardian, as she’s pulled by her hand to the railing. The Awoken gestures to the camp around them then gestures back to Hawthorne. “Yeah, but-“ She starts but is cut off by the Guardian’s almost violent head shake, and another message is furiously and hurriedly typed out for her on the datapad.

“You saved these people, not me. I fight Ghaul, the darkness, whatever needs killing. But you protect and defend and sustain. It’s easy to be a soldier, but not easy to be a leader. And you’re the only leader here.”

As a few more days pass, Suraya becomes convinced that Sinine is deliberately acting more deferent to her than usual, at least in public. While the management of the Farm has been split pretty clean between the two of them for almost a week now, there’s also an unstated agreement between them that Hawthorne is presented as the ultimate authority at the Farm, though it’s not a position that she particularly enjoys.

Suraya finds herself not minding passing on some of the responsibilities of managing the Farm to Sinine. There’s finally some trust between the two of them, though it remains tentative, and actually having someone to depend upon and share her burdens with is a welcome break from carrying the weight of thousands of lives on only her shoulders.

Sure, there’s an instinctual alarm going off almost continuously in her brain, warning her to _get away, don’t get too attached, you’re only going to get hurt_ – but she does her best to ignore it. She needs this – the companionship (dare she call it friendship?), the sense of trust and the alleviation of some of her anxieties.

She may never truly be at ease around people, but the Guardian seems to be doing her damndest to break her way through (or perhaps dig underneath, circumvent entirely) Hawthorne’s walls.

And it’s not exactly unwelcome, she’s scared to realise.

Suraya just has to smile slightly, a tiny, small smile, as Sinine takes her hand and leads her across the Farm and she desperately tries to not read too much into the contact.

A day ago the Guardian had requested a small tub of black paint and small simple brush, and though Suraya had found the request strange she had approved it. Sinine must’ve caught wind of her confusion at the time, for her Ghost had offered for Suraya to come to their room the night after and see what use she would put it to.

So here they are now, the Guardian lightly pushing open the rusted door to the room she’d requisitioned as her own and leading her inside. It’s small, dark in the evening-light until Unelema kickstarts a couple of solar lanterns with a burst of energy. There’s a tarp covering a hole in the wall and the one window is blown out, but nobody has the luxury of choice in these times, and the Guardian hadn’t complained.

Sinine sheds her cloak carefully, folding it on the small cot, and Unelema transmatts her armour away. She doesn’t shed any of her outdoor clothing herself, but she allows herself to relax enough to tug down the hood of her poncho and loosen the braid that keeps her unruly mess of a hairstyle out of the way.

The situation feels very intimate, all things considered. The Awoken carefully sits, legs crossed, on the cold floor, a lantern by her side, her knife on her lap and the paint before her. When Suraya inelegantly plops to the floor beside her, she can see in the lantern-light more of the Guardian’s history than she’d ever imagined seeing.

Her cerulean skin is decorated with scars – crisscrossing incisions and miscoloured patches alongside bullet wounds and the occasional spread of light freckles. Her slightly toned arms are dotted with small black markings, most heavily decorating the skin of her forearms but also sparsely placed along the back of her hands and upper arms.

In a different situation, Suraya would’ve asked her for the meanings and history behind them all, but the anticipation hovering in the air holds her back.

With an almost practised ease, Sinine takes the dagger and digs it into her forearm.

The shout of concern that passes Suraya’s lips is instinctual, her mind instantly jumping to _danger, blood, death-_ but the Guardian doesn’t so much as flinch, and though Hawthorne’s chest heaves in fear she slowly calms and watches what Sinine is doing.

She’s being incredibly careful – _precise, even_ \- in how she marrs her flesh, twisting the tip of the blade as if concerned by the outcome but unconcerned by the method. Sinine lifts the blade from what must be a finished cut before moving to another area on her arm and repeating the process until her arm is marked with about five new shapes.

The Guardian then leans forward and takes the small brush, dipping it carefully in the black paint and slowly, precisely, fills the incisions with the inky liquid. When this process is repeated on each marking she offers her arm to her Ghost, who heals the damage to her skin easily.

Suraya shuffles over to Sinine, who holds out her arm for inspection. The new markings now seem to be properly set into her skin somehow, but she can easily identify them from the older ones due to their vibrancy. There’s six she can distinguish, all strange little shapes.

Firstly, a marking she guesses is a simplified tree, made from two upward-pointing Vs and a vertical line through them. When she runs her fingers over it and gives the other woman a curious look, she gestures out the window to the Farm and the Wilds.

Then there’s a circle intersected with an X and vertical line, and Sinine nudges her Ghost with her unoccupied hand. Unelema then starts explaining what they mean, and apparently, this one is Ghaul, the leader of the Red Legion, and his apparent caging of the Traveler. Suraya frowns a little, and moves on.

Another circle, with a diagonal line slicing through it, which represents losing her Light. The same symbol, but one half decorated with little lines outward, like how a child might draw the sun – getting her Light back. A small X within a turned square represents finding her Ghost again.

And finally, three V shapes, simplified birds in flight, she presumes. Sinine points at her, and Hawthorne looks back at her, confused. “Me?”

The Guardian nods, and Suraya has to smile a little. “What do the others mean?” She asks, curious, and Unelema floats closer from where he was hovering over his partner’s shoulder.

“You want me to tell her?” He asks Sinine, and she nods, shuffling closer herself. The Ghost then starts cautiously explaining the meaning behind what appears to be a snow-topped mountain

Once he’s done explaining the meanings of the many tattoos Suraya feels far more respect for Sinine – _no, Taevas_. She’d never even heard of most of the things Unelema had mentioned, from Oryx to Crota to SIVA or the Black Garden, yet from his descriptions she starts to understand the scale of the Guardian’s achievements. She had defeated multiple _gods_ , stared into the eyes of the Darkness and died thousands of times over, all without even knowing her original name.

Suraya is about to speak up when Taevas gestures her over, and she shuffles closer until they’re almost touching. The Guardian gestures at her to cup her palms together, and then nudges Unelema closer to come to rest on her offered hands. The Ghost is surprisingly light, his shell warm as he settles against her skin.

Taevas carefully takes up the paint and brush, and slowly paints over the various scratches, cracks and marrs in his shell, while Suraya carefully shifts him around to allow the Guardian easier access. Eventually she seems to be done, and Hawthorne expects the Ghost to instantly take off from her palm to where she presumes he’d be more comfortable by his partner’s side. Instead he remains in her palm, and doesn’t object when Suraya carefully brushes the already dried paint along one of his spines.

The Guardian closes the gap between them and Suraya happily settles against her shoulder, eyes already drifting shut as Taevas cautiously sets an arm around her shoulders and pulls her in closer.

“’m I fine to sleep here?” She mumbles into the other woman’s shoulder, and Suraya becomes visibly happier when she hears a small laugh from above her, another of Taevas’ sounds that she’s lucky enough to hear. A blanket pulled from the bed and draped around her is enough confirmation, so she lets herself drift off, safe in the Hunter’s arms. 

Suraya frowns as Dev’s voice comes through on the comms again, offering her a brief glimpse into the conversation he and Taevas are having across the Dead-Zone in the church tower he’s holed up in.

“Yes, well Suraya has always been a bit of a problem child” He starts, and she protests into her comm because while that’s true she doesn’t want Taevas to get the wrong impression about her. Also, she has a sinking feeling about where this conversation is headed.

“Don’t you dare.” She warns, keeping an eye on her surroundings from atop the Mines. The last thing she needs right now are some Fallen getting the drop on her. Despite her borderline murderous tone, she can practically _hear_ Dev’s grin through the comms.

“I presume she hasn’t regaled you with the… _Pigeon_ story, has she?” In her head she grumbles, but she knows better than to try to stop him at this point. At least if she acts indifferent, he might stop at just one embarrassing childhood story.

“So, way back – she must’ve been ten or so –“ He starts, “she’d been feeding some of the City pigeons that hung around our flat-block. Crumbs, really, but it was obviously enough for them to view her as their new leader or something, because one day-“ He pauses to laugh, and she rolls her eyes.

“Me and Marc had taken her out to get lunch, and we’re walking home when this little girl, one of her classmates, approaches us in the street. And let’s just say Suraya never got on well with this girl, so I’m preparing to break up a fight, when one of her pigeons’ lands nearby. And then another, and another, till there’s twenty or so birds all flanking her, staring down this poor ten-year-old girl. I don’t think I’ve seen someone turn tail and run so quickly before, or since.”

She’s about to protest that the other girl was a total _bitch_ who always pulled her hair, when she hears it again – Tae’s laugh, echoing quietly through the comms.

“Exactly.” He says, sounding triumphant, and she decides to interject now before he decides on another story to tell and embarrass her with.

“You _do_ have a mission to give her.” She reminds him, and the diversion seems to work.

“Ah yes. The Cabal are being nasty buggers again and are jamming our conn…” She zones out a little, as much as she can while in highly hostile territory. She’s aware of the details that Devrim is relaying in their entirety, so instead she takes this rare moment of peace to reflect on the past few days.

Thankfully, things are starting to calm down at the Farm. The flow of refugees has slowed to about twenty new arrivals a day, yet the problems they bring seems to be growing exponentially every minute. They’re running low on everything – food, medical supplies, ammo, shelter – but she knows that no matter how bad the situation gets at the Farm, it’ll always be safer than the City or Wilds.

And that’s why this mission’s objectives are so imperative. They need to reach every person out there who needs aid and they won’t get very far with a jammed broadcast. That said –

“I’m still sitting up here with this broken comm relay.” She reminds them, only half-joking.

“You’ll get it,” He chastises, followed by the familiar sound of a sip of tea. “Unfortunately, I don’t think our Guardian friend can teleport.”

Taevas eventually reaches her, booster in one hand and a flask in the other. “You made it.” She jokes, hoping the undercurrent of genuine worry isn’t too apparent. “I presume the Fallen didn’t give you too much trouble?”

The Hunter passes her the relay and props herself up on a crate, legs swinging to and fro as she pours herself a cup of tea from the flask. Too buried in setting up the relay, she startles a little when the other woman holds out the cup. “Nah, you have it.” Something twinges in Suraya’s chest when she notices hurt flit across Taevas’ face. “I’ve had enough of Dev’s tea for a lifetime” She explains.

Regardless, the Guardian nudges the cup into her hand. “She’s had some already.” Her Ghost explains, and she acquiesces, accepting the beverage. There’s a few moments where neither of them move their hands from where they both hold the cup, and Suraya can feel the slightest crackle of residual Arc energy against her fingers. It’s a beautiful feeling, she thinks, like the air just before a thunderstorm, and her fingers move of their own accord to press closer to Taevas’.

A ping sounds from the relay.

Frowning as the nice moment they were having is broken, she sets the cup aside and checks the screen, Taevas dropping to the floor to follow her. “There’s an incoming beacon.” She mutters, confused, and the other woman watches the monitor over her shoulder as she connects to the transmission.

Her frown only grows as she listens to the Vanguard leader – “Commander” Zavala, he calls himself – give orders to rally on Titan, especially at the final words of his speech. “Be brave.” Like the bravery he and the Guardians – Taevas excluded – had shown when the City fell to pieces, when thousands of innocent, helpless civilians had died, all due to their failure?

She scoffs, turning to Taevas, fully intending to rant with her about the Guardian’s apparent leadership, but falters at the sight of her facial expression. She’s turned to her Ghost, an expression of wonder and happiness across her face. “Zavala’s _alive_.” Her Ghost murmurs to her, and Suraya swallows down the lump congealing in her throat.

“You are _not_ going to Titan.” She puts the full force of an order behind it, happy when her voice doesn’t waver like she’d feared it would. At the Ghost’s protests – “We need you _here_. Between the Cabal and the Fallen we can barely hold the Farm even with your help, and if this Commander of yours wants to help he can come here on his own two feet.”

“We need to, Hawthorne.” The Ghost replies, his tone probably meant to be soothing but just sounding patronizing to her in her agitated state, which irritates her further. “It’s our _duty_.”

“Funny that.” She scoffs. “I thought your _“duty”_ was to protect the few people that _your_ failure didn’t kill.” She glares at the Guardian, before shouldering her rifle and turning as Louis reluctantly hops up onto her shoulder.

“Hawthorne, please listen-“ The Ghost starts, but she ignores him. When the Guardian goes to grab her arm she tugs it from her grip and stalks off.

“You’ll know where to find me.”

Suraya huffs, watching the bonfire before her with far more intensity than would be considered normal. She’s perched up on a log by the makeshift fire, knees pulled to her chest like a moody teenager, and a stick for poking the fire held loosely in her limp left hand.

She hasn’t seen the Guardian all day, not since their _discussion_ up on the Mines, but she’s heard the rumours. Apparently, she’s getting ready to leave tonight, off to Titan she presumes, and everyone seems to have said their goodbyes except from her.

Not that she wants to say goodbye to the Guardian. She’s abandoning everything they’ve built, everything they’ve built _together_ , to go chasing ghosts.

But she has to admit that it hurts that the Guardian hasn’t come to find her. Suraya might not have sought the other out, but she hadn’t made much of an issue to hide either. And even if the Guardian couldn’t care less about her on a personal level, in the very least a professional departure was expected.

But hey, if she wants to leave them all behind, so be it. It wouldn’t be the first time for Suraya, and certainly won’t be the last.

She ignores the sound of someone cautiously taking a seat beside her, presuming it to be someone Dev had sent to talk to her. That is until a flask-cup of tea is quietly nudged into her free hand. She pulls it from the Guardian with a bit more force than necessary, spilling a bit of the scalding liquid on her ungloved hands, but she’s too tired and angry to care at this point.

She keeps her eyes away from the Guardian, choosing to stare bitterly down at the ground the opposite side of her legs instead. Minutes pass in this awkward silence, only broken when Suraya occasionally takes petulantly forceful swigs of tea, until she chances a glance up at the Guardian. Something in her aches when she registers the upset expression on Taevas’ face, the tiny tremble of her lips as she traces shaky circles into the sleek black armour covering her knee.

A petulant, vengeful part of her is happy. _Good. Let her suffer like you have_. She pushes past the nasty thoughts and silently sets down the empty cup, nudging the hand closer to Taevas’ until her pinky _just_ brushes the Awoken’s ungloved hand.

The Guardian flinches, pulling her hand away and holding it as if Suraya’s hand was a blue-hot flame rather than barely-lukewarm skin. _Fine then_. She mutters to herself. _Suit yourself._ The hand she’d offered the other curls into a fist on her lap, and she goes back to staring into the fire.

Taevas, however, seems to have other plans. The Guardian carefully reaches out to place her hand atop her curled fist, and she can feel the tension tight across her body slowly dissipate for the first time in a week.

Her fist uncurls and turns to touch palm-to-palm. She glances down at their hands just as Taevas links their fingers together, and a small sad smile flits across her face. At this point her anger has disappeared, leaving her tired and sad and lonely in it’s stead. She subconsciously shuffles closer to the Guardian, but before she can come to her senses and back off again Taevas is pulling her closer to rest against her armoured shoulder.

“Come back.” She whispers, voice strained with the effort of holding back tears. “Promise me you’ll come back.”

She frowns when Taevas pulls away from her, but pauses when the Guardian unholsters a gun from her waist and offers it to her. It’s a hand-cannon with sharp edges, white and black, decorated with sharp red lines akin to Fallen laser-tripmines. Taevas pushes the gun into her hands until Suraya accepts it, holding it close, a thumb subconsciously tracing one of it’s vertices.

A gagging sound has her whipping her head up to look at Taevas, concerned by the nasty sound. She seems to have something stuck in her throat, as she grits her teeth with effort. Suraya is about to put the extensive first aid training she has to use when the Guardian gasps, taking in heaves of air and waving of Suraya’s attempts at helping.

The realisation that Taevas was trying to speak comes to her when she transmatts in a datapad instead, typing Suraya out a message.

_“I’ll be back. I promise.”_

“I’ll hold you to that.” She replies sadly, and Taevas pulls her closer again. This time Suraya takes it a step further, lying down across the log to rest her head on the Guardian’s legs. “You leaving tonight?” She mumbles, glancing up to receive another datapad message.

_“Not anymore. I’ll be here when you wake.”_

Deciding to trust her once again she hums, letting the hand carding through her hair lull her to sleep.

It’s been a week now since Taevas left for Titan, and Suraya doesn’t want to admit how much her absence is affecting her. She constantly thinks back to that night by the fire and the following morning, the words she could’ve said to get Taevas to stay replaying through her brain the moment she gets some downtime.

_By the time she’d woken up that morning, the sun was well into the sky, air bright with a light breeze in the late morning sun. She’d wiped at her eyes groggily, annoyed at herself for sleeping in so long. She’s been exhausted, sure, but that had taken a backseat compared to the other issues they were facing at that moment (and that they still are facing)._

_It took her a moment to fully register where she was, coming to the realisation that she was still lying by the now-extinguished fire, her head still resting on Taevas’ lap. The other woman obviously noticed that she was waking, and Unelema transmatted in over her shoulder._

_“Good morning!”, he greeted her, surprisingly chipper._

_All she could manage for a reply was a grunt as she rubbed more sleep-dust out of her eyes. “What time is it?” She had mumbled, blinking her eyes up at Taevas who had a hand carding through her hair in what was a surprisingly intimate gesture._

_“11hrs” he replied, and she’d startled awake._

_“You shouldn’t have let me sleep in that long! How much have I missed?”_

_“Nothing much, really” The Ghost replied. “Taea’s been keeping an eye on things all night.” She glanced up at the Awoken, who was pointedly not looking at her, instead scrolling through the datapad in her hands._

_“Thanks” she’d murmured, then sat upright next to the Guardian._

_“It’s alright” the Ghost replied, “nothing that major has come up, anyway.”_

_She paused – “I thought you would’ve left by now.”_

_Taevas shrugged, and Unelema replied for her “We’re going to head off soon, anyway. Just didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye.”_

_She waved him away “I’m sure you have far more important things to worry about that babysitting me all night.” Then she’d looked up at Taevas, confused at the quiet humming noise the Guardian had made._

_The Awoken stood and offered her a hand up. She took it, obviously, as Unelema floated around them before he settled above his Guardian’s shoulder._

_“One thing did come up, but we’ve dealt with it already.” The Ghost hesitated, and looked over at his Guardian. When she nodded, he continued. “Lord Shaxx, our Crucible Handler –“ He paused to explain “Crucible is where Guardians fight each other to train” - He continued “got into contact with us this morning. He’s on his way to the Farm now.”_

_“What’s he look like?”_

_“You’ll know him when you see him. White and orange armour, yells a lot. He’s nice though.” Unelema cautiously floated over to her. She dipped her head and he lightly bumped into her forehead in a small affectionate gesture. “We’ll be back soon, I promise.”_

_She glanced up at the Guardian, who seemed sad and reached out to link her hand with Suraya’s own. “I’ll hold you to that.” She replied, as she drew Taevas in for a hug._

Her recollection is broken by the whirring of a ship’s engine at the periphery of her hearing. When she checks the date-time on her ‘pad she realises that it matches up with the approximate arrival time for the Crucible handler. Hopping down from her perch, Louis swoops down to land on her shoulder, and she approaches the group disembarking from the ship.

“You must be Hawthorne!” A loud voice rings out, a booming voice rings out. The source is a large man in obnoxious white and orange armour, a rifle slung over his back. He’s surrounded by a group of people – _Guardians_ , she realises – and she nods.

“That’d be me. _Lord_ Shaxx, I presume?”

“Ah, I see you’ve been forewarned of my visit.” He laughs, and gestures to the group behind him. “We’re ready to help in any way we can.”

She nods and turns, gesturing for them to follow her. The Hunters will be good scouts, she presumes, the Titans well equipped to defend the Farm’s borders, and the Warlocks adept at managing the large amount of dataflow they receive. The additional help certainly isn’t unwelcome.

She’s passing through the Farm late at night a few days later, when she overhears an interesting snippet from a conversation between two of the new Guardians. There’s a Titan and a Warlock – the Titan an exo with an all-black frame and red optics, Escupir, she thinks her name is, and the Warlock a human with tanned skin and dark hair - Mudra, both women. The Warlock leans heavily against the Titan’s armoured shoulder, and sniffles to the other; “D’ya think Tae is still alive?”

Suraya pauses at what she presumes is a nickname for Taevas, trying to not make it obvious that she’s listening in on their conversation.

“I’m sure she is,” The Titan reassures her, “after everything she’s survived, I wouldn’t put it past her to just show up one day, Light and all.”

“I jus-“ The Warlock starts, and the Titan draws her closer. “She’s never gone radio silent before.”

“Except after _Him_ ”

The Warlock lets out a shaky breath – “She was forced to stay at the Tower after Ory- _Him._ In her apartment. And El would answer us, even if she wouldn’t herself.” She huffs, and continues. “It just seems so improbable that she survived.”

Suraya decides that this is probably the best time to reveal herself, so she steps forward. “She seems to make a habit out of breaking the odds.” She comments idly, and the pair swivel round.

“Are- are you-“ The Warlock starts, but the Titan interjects.

“She’s alive.” It’s a statement, really, but she can feel the question underneath it.

“Mhm. Got her Light back too, didn’t know you knew her.”

“Where is she?” The Titan asks, as the Warlock stares wide-eyed at her.

“Titan, running off after your Vanguard. Missed her by a couple days, unfortunately.” She moves over to sit opposite them. “How’d you know her?”

The Warlock shuffles closer to the Titan again, resting her head on the Titan’s shoulder. “We’re her Fireteam – the people she runs missions with. Mudra and I go way back, and it was just the two of us until one day we hear gossip around the Tower that there’s a new Guardian, a Hunter, that’s already showing the rest of us up. Killed an Archon when she was only a couple days Risen.”

She pauses – “When she came back to the Tower she was already a stereotypical mysterious Hunter, full black armour already. We ended up playing a round of Crucible with her and she fit our team quite well, and the next time she went out to wrangle the Fallen she invited us along, and we just ended up inseparable I guess.”

Mudra, the Warlock shifts upwards and finally speaks, in her quiet, almost timid, voice. “We presumed her dead after the Fall.”

Escupir makes a confirming noise. “But if she’s alive, especially with the Light, it – well, it changes everything.”

Not even a week later, she’s met with another new arrival to the Farm.

She’s with Shaxx when they arrive, pouring over the set of outstanding scout missions they need to assemble teams for. The Titan has said, by his own admission, that scouting isn’t exactly his strong suit, but he has decades of military experience on her, and he’d offered to help.

A whirring sound from outside the Barn interrupts their discussion, and they share a look. Shaxx offers her a hand which she accepts, pulling herself to her feet and following the Titan out the ajar doors.

When they arrive outside, she finds that her initial suspicions about the identity of the new arrival were correct – there stands Commander Zavala, leader of the Vanguard, with a young woman by his side. The Commander appears exactly the same as she’s heard him described, from whispers in both the City and Farm – intimidating, with a strong face, imposing, heavily armoured, the lot. He stands tensely, body rigid and jaw set, while the woman next to him (young, with light skin and obnoxiously bright blonde hair) is practically bouncing on the balls of her feet.

The pair of Titans exchange simple terse pleasantries, while the other woman smiles at her.

“Hawthorne, right?” She nods an affirmation. “I’ve heard a lot ‘bout you. Taea and I shared a few drinks ‘fore she set off again, and the chat kept coming back to you.”

“All good things I hope?” She replies, unsure of how to process this new information, but glad to hear a mention of Taevas.

“Yeah, she seems to really like ‘ya, and I can see why. Not many non-Guardians get to lead stuff.” A laugh, then she continues. “Amanda Holliday, by the way.” She holds out her hand, and Suraya shakes it. “Tower Shipwright, back when that was still a thing. Chief Shipwright in general now, I guess. Can fix anything you hand me.”

It’s only then that the Titans seem to remember Hawthorne, and Commander Zavala approaches her with an unusual sort of humility for someone of his rank. He offers her an apologetic half-smile, strange Awoken eyes studying her carefully. “Suraya Hawthorne?” He asks, and all she gives in return is a nod, curious to see where he’d lead the conversation.

“Thank you for keeping everyone safe in our stead.” He starts, softly. “Taevas told me you’ve been running this place since the Fall.”

“Somebody had to pick up your slack.” She studies the Awoken harshly. “But if you’re here to help now, it’s a start, I suppose.”

Shaxx’s loud ringing laugh breaks the tension. “Well, I don’t know about you lot, but I could do with a drink.”

Shaxx really needs to revaluate what ‘a drink’ usually means.

Suraya somehow ends up the most sober of them all, with the Commander a close second, while Shaxx and Amanda are absolutely plastered. The latter has been giggling away for the past five minutes, slumped on Hawthorne’s shoulder.

She’s just finished telling the story of the time Cayde – the Hunter Vanguard, she remembers Tae telling her – drove a Sparrow off a cliff in a freak “accident”, and is now moving onto a time when Taevas and Mudra made flower crowns for all the Tower’s cleaning Frames. A heavy blush settles across her face which she internally blames on the alcohol but she still hopes that nobody notices.

But, of course, Amanda has to.

“Why ‘ya blushing?” She coos, reaching up to poke Suraya’s cheek. “If I ain’t know better I’d say you have a crush or somethin’.” She pauses, seemingly to reorient herself as she comes to a realisation. “Ohhhhhhh, you _do._ ” She slurs slightly and smiles knowingly up at her. She presumes Shaxx is grinning at them while Zavala seems downright confused.

“I think you’re reading too far into things.” She finally replies, and Amanda huffs.

“Aight so that’s just wrong.” She scrambles up to her knees – “If there’s one thing I’m great at its matchmaking, especially when I’m off my face.” Suraya rolls her eyes, and Amanda continues. “Like he” – She points at Zavala – “has the _biggest_ fucking crush on Cayde.”

The Awoken splutters and Amanda grins, leaning back on her knees. “And _you_ wanna smooch Tae.”

Lying to her seems pointless now, so she tries negotiation. After a pause, she replies. “So what if I do?”

Amanda’s grin only grows as she prepares to impart more of her wisdom. “You tell her how you feel, course!” Suraya shakes her head but the Shipwright isn’t deterred, and decides to start rambling. “I like Titans more, but I can see the appeal. Big fancy hero ‘nd all.” At Hawthorne’s puzzled expression – “Sloane. _Fuck_ I love her. Anyway, when she gets her ass back here from Nessus or whatever you’re gonna tell her. Ain’t need to be a big confession, just hold her hand or somethin’. No escaping it though, I’ll know if you haven’t.”

“That’s not how this wor-“ She starts, but is quickly interrupted.

“How it works now. No moping, no arguing, no overthinking.”

Amanda looks far too pleased with herself and promptly falls asleep on Hawthorne’s shoulder, her head refusing to settle anywhere else despite multiple half-hearted attempts on Suraya’s part. Shaxx eventually lumbers away, back to whatever space he’s requisitioned as his own, leaving the two sober people in an awkward tense silence.

Zavala is the first to break it. “When Taevas arrived at the Tower from the Cosmodrome, I presumed that she was just another Hunter. Cayde saw her as someone special, but I didn’t really _appreciate_ his opinions back then, and wrote it off as him overestimating her potential. But then she made contact with the Reef, defeated Oryx, avenged the Iron Lords…” He trails off and offers her a timid smile.

“Throughout it all, I must admit that I remained… _cautious_ of her. She was professional, yes, but retained much of the typical Hunter mysticism and cryptic-ness. It took a long while, but I found myself eventually considering her a … _friend_. We presumed her dead when the City fell until she arrived on Titan like a gift from the Traveler itself.”

Zavala shifts uncomfortably, avoiding meeting her eyes. “I never felt more useless, powerless, than I did on Titan. People were dying around me, colleagues I’ve known for centuries, war veterans and civilians. We didn’t have long until the Hive would reach us, and we were counting down the days, really.” Zavala meets her eyes, again. “She saved us, told me to come here to help hold back the Fallen. If I’m honest, I wasn’t expecting much, but she seemed to trust you, and that was enough for me.”

“So, am I what you expected, Commander?”

“No.” He replies honestly. “But you’re what humanity needs.”

Zavala helps her to get Amanda back to the Shipwright’s room, and she waits in the doorway while he sets Amanda down and attempts to get her comfortably situated. They’re back to silence when Zavala closes the door behind him, though this time the silence is more comfortable. When they arrive at Hawthorne’s door Zavala turns to face her, taking an envelope from one of his pockets and handing it to her.

“Taevas asked that I give this to you.” There’s a knowing smile on his face, and Hawthorne is stuck between elation and wanting to die of embarrassment. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

That night, on the roof of the Barn, with the night sky draped above her, she retrieves the letter. The envelope is typical, standard-issue sturdy white card, smooth against her fingers. Neat black cursive script spells out her name.

She carefully breaks the seal, and a tidal wave of emotions come over her. The paper is thick and soft and rough, a single page filled almost in its entirety with tight cursive, the contents as following;

“ _Dear Suraya,_

_I hope this letter has found its way to you with little disruption, for the first thing I’d like to do is apologise. I’m aware that we didn’t depart on the best of terms, and the responsibility for that lays entirely on me. It was wrong of me to leave with little in the way of explanation as to why I had to leave, and with little consideration for your own feelings on the matter, but I hope you may forgive me, for in Zavala’s broadcast I saw a path at last – a lead, a way forward._

_My time on Titan has been awakening, to say the least. In the time since my battle against Oryx, I must confess that I had forgotten about the severity of threat that the Hive present, and I loathe to think of what may have transpired had I not arrived by the time I did. I’m sure you’ve already met Amanda and Zavala, and if you take my advice on any subject please let it be this – don’t be too harsh on Zavala. I understand that in your eyes he failed you, the City, all of us, and while that’s debatable, he’s struggling. Nobody blames him from the Fall more than he blames himself. I know it’s tempting to try him, to push against him at every opportunity, but please just work with him as much as you can. And please don’t judge Amanda for being super hyper - it’s her way of coping with everything falling apart._

_By the time you receive this letter, I likely will have already left for Nessus – a Centaur, planetoid, on which we think Cayde, the Hunter Vanguard, might be stranded. I loathe to stay away from the Farm longer than I’d originally planned, but by hopefully reconnecting the entire Vanguard we can gain a significant boost in morale, and more widely, the entire war effort._

_It shouldn’t be a significant amount of time before we meet one another once again, but in the meantime, I’d like to inform you that, well, to be frank, I miss you. I’ll admit, it’s not a feeling I’m truly used to – in general, I’m not familiar with expressing my emotions in any capacity, really. I’m usually considered not much more than a vessel, a way of expressing the Traveler’s will. All us Guardians are similar in that way, but my roles before the Fall ensured that I was never really seen as more than The Guardian or any of the myriad of other names people saw fit to call me by. In others I have found friends, but around no one but you have I truly felt like a whole, independent person again. We may have only known each other for little over two weeks, but in that time I must confess that I feel we bonded.I hope we will meet again soon,_

_Taevas_

_P.S: 1924:2ac4:72b2:0000:1329:72d8:2488:1099”_

Suraya’s breath hitches at that last line, catching in her throat as she recognizes the string of characters as a comm ID. Reaching blindly for her own comm she subconsciously commits it to memory and plugs the string into her own. She hesitates with her finger over the call button, but after a deep shaky breath she musters up the courage to press it.

For a few heart-stopping moments it rings, before it finally connects.

“Suraya?” It’s Unelema’s voice, clear but hesitant as she lets out a sign of relief. “Zavala reached you, then?”

“Yeah-“ She replies, mind running a blank from the millions of things she wants to say. “Is- is Tae there?”

“Mhmm” the Ghost hums in affirmation. “She can write through the channel, one second.”

“ _How are things at the Farm?”_ appears a moment later.

“Getting better –“ she replies, desperately trying to keep the emotion – relief, hope, _lov-_ from coming through in her voice. “Still not 100% sure that your Commander won’t try and take over.”

“ _He won’t, else he’ll have to answer to me.”_ Suraya stifles a laugh, and Tae continues. “ _I’m glad things are getting better over there.”_ – A pause – “ _I really didn’t want to leave, you know._ ”

Suraya sighs – she can’t deny that she’s upset by Tae’s absence, but her anger at the situation has long since dissipated into something more… _longing._ “I know, just – come back soon, yeah? I… - I miss you too.”

The moment hangs between them before it’s interrupted by a frankly grating laugh and an exasperated sigh from Tae.

“Cayde.” Unelema mutters, annoyed, before Cayde – the Hunter Vanguard, that’s it – laughs again.

“Oh sorry, am I interrupting something?” Its not a serious question, she can tell, and it apparently ticks off Tae’s Ghost.

“ _Yes._ ” He bites, but this Cayde character is obviously undeterred.

“ _Ohhhh_.” She can practically hear the grin in his voice. “Your girlfriend finally called!”

“Cayde I swear to th-.” He’s interrupted again.

“Hey, hey, I get it, no need to get stressy.” He laughs as El sighs again, before apparently turning his focus to the still open comms. “So, I’m Cayde, professional idiot and loot hoarder, at your service.”

“Tae, please don’t tell me you’re making this thing my responsibility.”

It takes another couple of days for him to actually arrive, but when he does, it’s with a bit less showmanship than she’d expected.

She’s in a meeting of sorts with Zavala – informal gathering, really, to discuss the distribution of key resources throughout the Farm – when she notices a figure creeping up behind the Commander. She’s about to say something when the figure properly comes into view, and gestures for her to be quiet. A moment later, the Hunter Vanguard leaps onto the back of the Commander, having to hoist himself up a bit to reach the Awoken’s shoulders. His laughter is loud and raucous but quietens down when the Titan grabs onto him in a crushing hug.

It’s obviously not the response Cayde was expecting, optics wide. “Hey Blue, you okay there?” Zavala shakes his head and holds him closer, before the moment ends quickly and they part, Zavala looking at the other Vanguard with a strange mix of concern and anger.

“What were you thinking, running off to Nessus alone?”

“Ow Zav, that hurts,” Cayde replies, far too jokingly. “I knew what I was doing, see?” He gestures to his Ghost, who transmatts a circular object into his hand. Suraya isn’t sure what it is, but Zavala seems to know.

“A Vex teleporter?”

“Yeah, limited range, but we can still probably use it to get up to Ghaul and sock ‘im in the face.”

“How limited?”

The pair of Vanguards turn to face her, and Cayde’s expression shifts. “You must be Hawthorne.” He’s wearing a rough approximation of a grin, “Blue 2 told me _alllll_ about you.”

“Blue 2?” She asks in response.

“Blue,” He gestures at Zavala, “And Blue 2 is Tae. I’m unoriginal in my naming.” He laughs, approaching her. “And she told me ‘Don’t call her a Hunter, don’t insult her falcon, don’t insult her poncho.’”

“Sound advice. How close will we have to get for the teleporter to work?”

“In the City, somewhere. Better than nothing, though I don’t think it was worth getting stuck in a teleportation loop for… Might be able to tweak the range if you give me some time.”

Zavala coughs pointedly, drawing their attention. “What part of any logical plan involves teleporting to Ghaul and punching him?”

“My plan does, Blue. Taevas can get up to the Almighty, take out its weapon and then beat that ugly slug-looking-thing back into whatever pit he crawled out of. All we need to do is get her close.” He slings an arm around the Titan’s waist. “Have some faith.”

And Suraya doesn’t miss the way Zavala smiles down at him, nor the way he gives Cayde’s wrist a reassuring squeeze.

Hawthorne is moving through the farm late one evening when she spots Cayde, perched on the edge of a roof with the chicken he’s taken a liking to (Colonel, she thinks he’s named it), eyes set on the Traveler’s shard. He must be pretty out of it, as he doesn’t notice her approaching until she plops down next to him, making him jump.

“Hey Poncho.” He greets her, but his voice sounds more tired than she expected. They sit in silence, Suraya eventually taking the hand cannon Tae had given her out of its holster and absent-mindedly running her thumb up and down its barrel. Cayde notices the gun, and an expression of shock flits across his features.

“Can I see that?” He asks, and she nods, passing him the gun. Cayde makes an appreciative noise, studying the weapon, and eventually handing it back. “Taevas gave you that, right? Only seen a couple of Sunshots, ‘nd only one with that paint job.”

She nods, grip on the gun tightening, voice quiet. “Gave it to me before she left.” She says simply, not willing to acknowledge the gravity of the gesture lest she get stuck in a self-dug pit of overthinking again.

Cayde stares at her, shocked. “Do you not realise how _massive_ that is?”

“Obviously not.” She replies, dryly.

He turns his body to face her, sitting on his knees and leaning forward. “To us Hunters, a gun like that is- well, it’s everything.” He laughs a little. “I’ve seen people kill for less. And yeah, Tae favours rifles and that _Prometheus_ she still won’t let me try out, but by giving you a gun like that-.” He trails off a little. “It’s a big gesture, to say the least.”

Silence draws out between the two of them again, and, after a while, she speaks up. “You mentioned it being a Hunter thing, right?” At his small nod – “I- I don’t really understand any of the Hunter stuff, if I’m honest. I know that you have a lot of traditions, but they’re lost on me.”

“Anything you want to know in particular?”

“What’s the deal with the cloaks?”

Cayde exhales deeply, brow furrowing, and fingers knitting together. “Well, mine… my cape was once Andal’s. Andal Brask’s. He was the Hunter Vanguard before me, and a close friend. When we lost him, I took up his cloak, as a vow. Most Hunters are the same – our cloaks have stories to tell.”

“What about Taevas’?”

“Hers was standard issue, basic Hunter armour, I believe. Been with her since she first came to the Tower. Pretty sure it was an off-white colour originally, but she dyed it black and painted that symbol on the back. Do you know what it means? The sun with a slash through it?” She nods.

“Her light, she’s got a tattoo of it on the back of her hand too.”

“Damn, she showed you her tattoos too? Not like her to trust so openly.”

“Maybe I’m an exception.”

“Maybe you are.” Cayde laughs, noticing Hawthorne’s expression, and letting out a knowing sound.

“Not you too.” She gripes when she realises Cayde knows. “Amanda was enough.”

“Hey, I’m not saying anything.” He laughs again. “You’ll be good for her though, you know. She struggles with her identity and relationships, and it seems to be mutual, from the way she spoke of you.” He claps her on her back.

Hawthorne shakes her head, confused at Cayde’s enthusiasm. “There’s nothing between us, she hardly even likes me. We just work together.”

“That’s _bullshit_ and you know it.”

She lets out a sigh. “Either way… I can’t even communicate with her, I know nothing about her, and.” Another huff – “It won’t work out.”

“I might not be able to convince you to get off your ass and tell her, but I think I can help with the communication thing, presuming you mean that you can’t understand what’s she’s saying.”

“Well, she doesn’t speak.”

“Not verbally, no. But have you never seen her sign?”

“Sign?” She asks, confused.

Cayde makes a series of hand gestures that she swears she recognises before she realises – they’re the gestures Taevas makes at her ghost. “Standard Sign Language. There were versions before the collapse, Hunters picked it up as a way of communicating in shorthand, then an official version was developed. Taught her it myself. If you want, I have some datapads with common words and phrases, it ain’t that difficult to pick up.”

“Are you sure?”

“Hell yeah, least I can do.” His Ghost transmatts a datapad onto her lap and she turns it on, a series of hand gestures and movements representing letters and words greeting her. Her eyes skim the page before Cayde speaks up again.

“It was only after Oryx that she stopped speaking entirely. I don’t know what she went through there, but I can’t imagine that it was good. So please, keep her safe. She’s earnt it.” He gives her a genuine smile. “You both have.”

Two nights later, Ikora, the Warlock Vanguard, arrives.

Suraya doesn’t know what to expect of her by the time she steps down from her ship, hands folded behind her back and sharp eyes surveying the Farm. When Suraya approaches her there’s distrust and contempt in the Warlock’s gaze, but the Wilds-woman pushes past it for now.

For Tae’s sake, she reminds herself.

According to the Vanguard, said Hunter is still occupied on Io, helping one ‘Asher Mir’ access the Warmind Vault there. Suraya doesn’t question the synthesized retching sound Cayde makes at that name, nor does she ask for expansion on her admittedly very limited knowledge of the Warminds (they weren’t exactly covered in primary school).

She’s just happy that Tae is coming home.

It’s the next morning, just after the sun has broken over the horizon, painting the sky in shades of amber, that she arrives. The _Wanderwing_ touches down, Taevas transmatting to the ground while Unelema lands the ship elsewhere then reappears by her shoulder. The Vanguard approach her almost instantly, Cayde first as he slings an arm over her shoulder, then Zavala and Ikora, the former clapping her on the shoulder and the latter giving her a small smile. She looks away when Tae looks up at her post, studying the sky, the horizon, and anything other than the woman who’s been on her mind for weeks.

She watches the Guardian make her way towards her post, greeting people with nods and handshakes as she goes, Shaxx’s laughter loud as he congratulates her and Amanda yelling out a greeting. By the time Taevas reaches her, she’s managed to control her emotions enough to appear unaffected when she turns to appraise the Hunter.

Most of Tae’s gear is new, she notes, armour sleeker and less mismatched, but the cape and sword mounted to her back remain the same. They stand in uncomfortable silence for a few moments, before Suraya breaks the tension with a simple “Welcome back.” The Guardian nods in return, making an uncomfortable noise in the back of her throat and walking away.

When she’s out of sight Suraya releases the tension in her shoulders with a loud, drawn-out sigh. It’s going to be a long day.

By midday, news of Taevas’ arrival has spread through most of the Farm, Suraya watching from her perch as the guardian is greeted by the majority of the Farm’s inhabitants, Guardian and civilian alike. She glances down at the time on her datapad, biting her lip as she watches the horizon. A team of Guardians are due back from a supply run any minute now, including Escupir and Mudra, and she’s unsure of how they’ll react. Taevas catches her eye from down below, and Suraya gives her an awkward nod. She’s not sure how exactly to deal with this hole she’s dug herself into by keeping Tae at a distance since she returned, but it won’t be too bad. At least that’s what she hopes.

A few minutes later, they arrive.

Mudra is the first to notice Tae, sprinting towards her, arms outstretched, and almost crashing into the Hunter. They embrace closely, while Escupir approaches, Taevas inviting her into the hug by setting her arm across the Titan’s shoulder. The civilians around them discreetly watch, while the Guardians do their best to ignore the scene, and Hawthorne finds herself unable to break her gaze for a few, long, seconds.

She can’t afford to distract herself with this. There’s work to be done.

It’s well into the night by the time she realises that she hasn’t seen Taevas all evening. The night air is cool against the exposed skin of her face and neck, sky devoid of clouds, and stars sparkling above her, as she heads to Taevas’ room. She knocks on the door - a formality, really, a gust of wind could pull it off its rusty hinges – and it nudges open, Unelema promptly blinking away when it’s ajar. She can’t spot Taevas anywhere, until her Ghost blinks back into reality by the open window, shell gesturing upwards.

After climbing out the window and up the remaining wall, to the flat roof above, there stands Taevas. She’s forgone most of her armour, left only in black civilian clothes and her cloak, braced forward on the half-wall, a stylus shaped object in her grip tracing lightly across the page of a book. The Guardian is obviously zoned out and jumps a fair bit when Suraya greets her with a quiet “Hey”.

She visibly relaxes when she identifies her, offering her a tentative smile, while Hawthorne sidles closer, looking down onto the page she’d been drawing on. A series of familiar objects greet her – the shard of the Traveler, peeking out from rooftops and the surrounding forest. Sets of hands, Unelema, the moon, a leaf with curled edges, strange small symbols. And Suraya herself, a small frown on her face as she studies the horizon, Louis just visible over her shoulder.

“I didn’t know you drew.” She inquires softly, her own brown eyes meeting the Guardian’s burning amber. She doesn’t catch the small upwards tick of Taevas’ lips, but does notice when her hands move up, then retreat back to their careful hold on the book. Unelema blinks into existence again, transmatting up the Hunter’s tools and watching as she starts to gesture.

Hands cross each other before sliding outwards – _not_ – hands in front, over each other, moving apart – _many_ – curled into fists, knocked against each other – _do_.

Orange eyes widen when she laughs and replies: “I’d imagine it doesn’t inspire much fear into the enemy.”

The Hunter’s expression is a saddening mix of desperate hope and astonishment when she signs back. She points to Suraya, followed by a finger pulled down her face, curled across her forehead then a point to herself. “ _You can understand me?”_

“Cayde taught me. Thought it was about time you stopped having to use your Ghost as a fancy interpreter.”

The Guardian laughs, a beautiful, rich sound, before signing back. “ _There’s a lot I have to tell you.”_ She reaches out to take Suraya’s hand in her own, knitting their fingers together, and she swears time itself stops for a moment.

Especially when Tae takes their hands to her face, pressing a simple kiss against the skin of Suraya’s knuckles.

A beat of silence passes between them, before Hawthorne pulls Taevas forward into a long-overdue kiss. They part a moment later, and she doesn’t miss the look of complete relief and happiness that flits across the Hunter’s features. “ _I’ve wanted to do that for far too long_ ” she signs, and Suraya can’t help but laugh in agreement. And then they’re kissing again, and Tae tastes like home and all the things she’d never dared to hope for.

They pull away from eachother, Taevas’ fingers already tangled in Suraya’s mess of curls, and they share a relieved smile.

“I missed you.” Suraya reveals, and Tae pulls her against her chest, drawing her cloak around the Wilds-woman’s back as protection from the cold wind. “Leave me again and I’ll set Louis on you.”

The Awoken’s chest shakes with quiet laughter, and she signs a response. “ _I wasn’t planning on it_.”

It’s another few days later when she has to face the truth of the situation – Tae is going to have to fight Ghaul.

She’s stood against the wall of the barn while the Vanguard discusses the plan once again, fingers picking nervously at the skin of her forearms as Taevas setting a comforting hand on hers. Her amber eyes are focused clearly on the trio of Guardians before them, but her fingers continue to trace reassuring shapes across the back of Hawthorne’s hand, the motion soothing despite the nature of the conversation.

The plan to get Tae up to Ghaul is solid enough – a multi-layer attack on some of the Legion’s forces in the City, enough to safely push through to a suitable point for the teleporter to be set up. It’s risky, yes – any direct attack on the Legion while most Guardians are Lightless is bound to be – but there’s not much more they can do to improve it. They can’t hold out against the Legion for long, not with the sheer number of refugees they have to protect, and taking out Ghaul is their best hope for destabilising the Legion and taking back the City.

Still, a horrible, gnawing feeling of pure anxiety plagues her mind, stirred up by the rapidly approaching assault. This has to happen, she knows that, but her mind refuses to accept the situation. They’ll be going in effectively blind, running only on educated guesses, and they’ll be no second chances – for most of them anyway.

But they don’t have any other choices left.

It’s the night before the City assault when they find time to be together again, relaxed against each other on the uncomfortable expanse of Tae’s bed. The Awoken’s hands are combing through her dark curls, while her own fingers trace over the soft texture of her cloak. Taevas’ fingers eventually retreat from her hair and instead slip between their bodies to sign a message.

_“It’s going to be okay.”_

She sighs, setting her head against Taevas’ chest. “I know, but I can’t help but worry.” At that the Hunter pulls away, getting off the bed with a strange expression on her face. Suraya watches as she removes her cloak and lays it flat on the floor, Unelema transmatting a knife into her hand. Pulling the fabric taught she carves off a section about the length of her forearm and two fingers thick that tapers off at the end with a clean edge, then approaches Hawthorne with a smile, kneeling on the bed in front of her.

Catching on, she holds out her wrist. Tae loops the fabric around her wrist once, twice, and ties it neatly, meeting Suraya’s eyes with more emotion and love than anyone has ever shown in regards to her. Hawthorne stands up herself, snatching up her poncho from where she discarded it and taking up the knife that had been left a moment ago. The white fabric is a tad dirty, inevitable in the Wilds, but it’ll have to do. Her hands shake as she trims off a section of fabric similar in size from the bottom of the garment.

When she stands again, Tae pulls her into a hug, Hawthorne’s hands slipping up in the almost non-existent gap between them. Tae offers her wrist, and she loops the fabric around once, twice and ties it tightly. Suraya rests her head against the other’s shoulder, the Awoken’s hands set on her waist, just letting the world pass them by, if only for a moment. One of Tae’s hands comes up to caress her cheek, and a beat later words are murmured against her lips.

Tae’s voice is rich, almost powerful by itself, warm against her skin. And the words she gives Suraya are simple, but fill her heart with hope and joy.

“I love you.”

Her eyes shoot up to study the Awoken’s, the small smile on Tae’s lips almost hiding the small tell of her anxiety in the twitch of her face, the way her amber eyes refuse to meet Hawthorne’s own for a moment.

Suraya lets out a shaky breath, one of her hands coming up to rest over Tae’s. “I love you too.” A few moments pass in silence until Hawthorne feels a strange sensation run over the cheek that the Hunter’s palm is cupped against. The feeling is almost imperceptible, at first, until it spreads against her skin again, and she can identify the sensation. Its electricity – not unpleasant as she’d expect, but instead cool and comforting as pulses of energy grace her cheek. Tae pulls her hand away, keeping her fingers linked with Suraya’s as small fractals of pale blue light run along her tattoos and branch off over her cerulean skin.

“Promise me we’ll both make it out.” Hawthorne whispers, trying to savour the sensation of Taevas’ Light against their joined hands. Their fingers separate, except their pinkies, which remain tied around each other, and the message is clear – I promise.

Remnants of armour are shed as the pair crawl under the covers together, Suraya’s head tucked closely against the Hunter’s chest to allow both of them to fit on the narrow bed. Unelema transmatts in, the Ghost settling into the space next to Tae’s head, his frame nudging comfortingly against the couple. It’s a reminder to them all that they’re here, alive, entirely whole and hopeful.

When the sun dawns across the Farm they’ll have to part with quiet promises and intertwined fingers but, for now, it feels as if they have all the time in the world.

Hawthorne shifts minutely in her crouch, hidden behind the broken remains of a wall. They’re waiting for Taevas’ signal, already in position around the path they’ll need to clear and hold, and her fingers instinctively check the holster at her hip for Sunshot (it’s still there, of course, as it has been the last ten times she’s checked). Her comm is turned almost all the way down, but Unelema’s voice still startles her when he yells out the signal a few moments later.

“Zavala, the weapon is destroyed! Start the attack!”

The connection cuts a moment later, but she swears she can hear the loud hissing of pure _heat_ over the comm, and she refuses to think of it. She looks over to Cayde who grins, releasing Colonel out onto the street. A passing Centurion stares down at the animal, growling in its language and aiming it’s Bronto Cannon. A beat passes, before Cayde launches out from behind the Cabal and leaps onto its back, jamming a knife into the lighter armour protecting its neck. It falls quickly, like all the others he’s dispatched with this unconventional method, and they scan the area before moving on.

Through the comms the Vanguard confirm their positions, before a series of explosions echoes through, the view on her scope showing that Ikora has started her section of the attack, and they push forward.

She watches as Zavala, _Commander_ Zavala, _whatever_ , is pushed to the ground by a Legionary, shotgun coming down to point at the Titan’s head. He struggles to shift the Cabal’s weight, and time seems to slow for a moment. Her sniper is in her hands before she knows it.

_Click_.

She turns off the safety.

_Click_.

Her eyes focus on the scope, fingers twitching over the trigger.

_Click_.

She pulls the trigger.

The Legionary’s head explodes in a mass of smoke, crumbling to the ground as time resumes its regular pace. She fires again, heading towards the Titan, helping him up and huffing with the effort. “What’s it with you Guardians and falling down all the time?” She jokes, hoping to disperse some of the tension.

“Where’s Cayde?” He asks in response, and Hawthorne easily identifies the tinge of worry in his tone.

“Well, if he’s sticking to the plan…” She peers through her sniper’s scope, then nods. “He’s right where he needs to be. Now we just need to get you and Ikora up there with him.” An energy barrier flickers to life before them, and she huffs in frustration. “I’ll handle this, you need to get moving.” Their eyes meet, and they share a tense smile.

“Good luck, _Guardian_.”

He’s off immediately, and Suraya shakes her head minutely, trying to ignore how _accepted_ she feels. There’ll be time to sort out this weird kind-of-family she seems to have acquired later on. For now, there’s a barrier network for her to hack.

It feels like an age later when Unelema’s voice cuts through on the comms again.

Hawthorne’s fingers stall for a moment over the terminal keyboard, before the Ghost’s voice is cut off by what sounds like a rocket blast, and she instinctually tenses, gripping tightly onto the edge of the device. A beat of silence passes, in which Suraya swears she can hear her blood pulsing in her ears and her heart beating in her chest.

“Taevas! Are you still with us?” It’s Zavala’s voice, and thankfully a reply is almost immediate.

“We’re fine, but – the Traveler…” The Ghost’s voice is worried, and his words come out far quicker than he’d probably intended.

“That’s why we’re here. To stop this madness.” She thinks a line like that calls for a dramatic pause of some kind, but Zavala presses on. “Ikora and I are converging on the rally point, Cayde’s already there.”

“We’ll use the Vex teleporter to jump to the Traveler,” Ikora adds, voice strangely contemplative. “If we make it there alive.” Unelema comforts her, and she takes over the comms.

Her tone is familiar, but entirely professional, keeping her message succinct. “Red Legion’s using these energy barriers to funnel us into kill boxes. I can hack into the grid and knock it down for short stretches. Standby.” She pauses, almost losing her nerve and clicking off her comm, but finally adding; “Love you, Moon.”

The voice that replies is quiet, but warm, and undoubtedly alive. “I love you too, Sura.”

It’s then that the Cabal interrupts their comm system, effectively cutting every group off from the others. She bites down the awful feeling in her gut that those three words might be the last thing she ever tells Tae, and instead focuses on keeping her team alive. There’s not much more she can do, now.

Her team are passing through a system of alleyways, later, when the toes of her boot connect with something small and metal on the rubble-covered road. Against her better judgement, she looks down, expecting to find a corpse of some description, but instead finding… a Ghost.

Its shell is white and blue, covered in ash and dirt, and Suraya drops down to scoop up the robot. It feels cold and heavy in her hands, unlike Unelema in every way, and she tucks it away in one of her poncho’s pockets. There’s probably a Ghost burial ritual or something they can do later, but right now she has more pressing problems.

_Something’s not right._

She’s been on edge for the past ten minutes, some instinct-driven part of her brain screaming at her as a loud sound she can only describe as a compressed rush of air echoes through the sky, drawing her eyes upward. Against the black and red shape of the Traveler she can see a figure, seemingly made of light, wings spreading out behind it. She closes her eyes in resignation, all but accepting their fates now, as a booming voice carries across the sky.

“Traveler! Do you see me now? I am _immortal_. A _god_! You have failed! _Witness the dawning of a new age_!”

Then there’s a sound that’s almost ethereal, a hummed melody that reverberates through her body, and she opens her eyes to see pinpricks of light chip away at the dark shell covering the Traveler.

_“You.. do.. see me.”_

The same powerful voice screams in agony as a crack pierces the air, then- the Traveler _explodes_.

There’s the same rushing of blood in her ears and heartbeat in her brain, pure heat rushing through her veins in a strangely calming fashion. A gasp escapes her lips as her vision is overcome by white, ears ringing and flesh erupting in goosebumps before she’s jolted back into reality, breathing heavily as one of the civilians on her team hovers over her crouched form in concern.

A presence draws her eyes upwards, to meet a very alive Ghost, white and blue shell marking the one she’d found earlier, single eye somehow displaying its shock well. “You’re… my Guardian.” She can’t reply, for her throat feels scorched and her breathing refuses to calm, but she soon finds that she doesn’t need to, for everyone around her – tired civilians and over-energized Guardians alike, turn to face the Traveler, in a mix of joyous wonder and clear trepidation.

The Vanguard step up first, their silhouettes clear against the bright light, all three of them standing tall on the rooftop of a nearby building. And then, above them - dropping down from the ship above, framed by the Traveler – stands Taevas, glowing in the darkness as she raises a fist into the air as a clear sign of victory.

_She’s okay._

_They’re okay._

Her body still feels racked with flames by the time she reaches Tae, weaving through crowds until they notice each other and sprint together, Suraya burying her head against the Awoken’s chest. She’s only partly aware of the tears she’s staining the other’s shoulder with and tries her best to ignore the spots of wetness she can feel drip onto the top of her head.

After a few moments, they part, Suraya blinking up at Taevas. They share a genuine, relieved smile, before the moment promptly ends when the Awoken notices the Ghost hovering over Hawthorne’s shoulder. Her amber eyes flicker between the robot and the other woman, confusion visible on her face. “Oh yeah I-“ She coughs out a bit more of the imaginary smoke from her lungs, and Taevas sets a comforting hand on her forearm. “I found a Ghost.”

The robot speaks up, voice feminine and surprisingly warm. “I’m Flüchtige- I’m- supposed to be her Ghost.”

Unelema blinks into existence and whirrs up to greet her, and the two women smile tiredly at each other.

This is going to take some time to figure out.

Hawthorne sighs, pulling the material of her poncho tighter around her cold arms. She’d only had the foresight to grab the garment and pull it over her sleep clothes (alongside her boots, of course) before escaping to yet another roof, and while it does help to keep away some of the chills, she wishes that she’d layered more.

Not that it really matters, considering the heat surging through her veins.

Tae had insisted to her, earlier, that it was normal to be weirded out by the Light at first. That she’d get used to the power thrumming beneath her skin and pooling at her fingertips, the buzz of energy in her head, but she’s not convinced. As far as anyone is aware, Suraya is the first and only Guardian (damn, it’s weird to label herself that) to be reborn while already alive with intact memories, so nobody is really sure how long it’ll take her to adjust.

She doesn’t attempt to warm herself with her newfound powers, nor does she try to calm them like Tae had suggested, not wanting to risk setting half of the Farm on fire. So instead she stares up at the night sky, letting the silence calm her nerves. After a while she feels a tug on her mind, Flüchtige (her Ghost, she corrects) appearing beside her. The Ghost hovers over Suraya’s lap, shell tilted down, voice tinged with sadness when she speaks. “You don’t like me.”

At that statement Hawthorne’s head jerks down, refusal on the tip of her tongue when her brain catches up to her and she relaxes slightly, letting out a deep breath. “No, I do, I just-.” She chews on her lower lip, fingers knitting together. “I like you, Tige. I’m just really not used to this whole Guardian thing, as you can probably tell. I need a while to get to grips with it.”

Flüchtige floats onto her open palm at her confession, the metal of her shell surprisingly warm against her skin. “I like you too, I can see why the Traveler chose you. We can figure this out.” Suraya smiles down at her, running a thumb against the Ghost.

“I suppose we have all the time in the world, now.”

The robot looks up at her, optic blinking. The tint of sadness is gone from her voice when she speaks, voice warm and hopeful instead. “Tell me about you.”

Hawthorne laughs – “I’m not that interesting, I’m afraid.”

“I haven’t known you for that long, but I can already tell that that’s not true.” Her Ghost replies. “What was your early life like?”

“I can’t remember much that far back, but somehow I ended up in a City orphanage as one of the unadoptable kids. Anger issues, misbehaved, no friends, the usual. Statistics said I shouldn’t have ever been adopted, but one day, when I was eight or so, two men came to the orphanage. Didn’t pay them much mind at first, but then they approached me.” She’s aware that there’s a stupidly wide grin on her face, but she can’t bring herself to care. “I didn’t believe that they were there for me, at first. Thought there must’ve been some mistake. But then they took me home, and-“ A frown flits across her features. “Things were good. For a while.”

Tige nudges against her palm as a gesture of comfort. “I started redistributing resources, let’s say. Stealing from the Factions to help the people who really needed it. Got caught by Executor Hideo one day, the leader of New Monarchy, and he starts rattling off some nonsense about hierarchy and societal order, so I responded in the only way I knew how.” She stifles a laugh. “Socked him in his dumbass face. After that, he started threatening Dev and Marc, my dads, so I had to leave. To protect them, y’know. Ended up outside the City for most of my adult life, and here I am today.”

She jumps when Tae announces her presence by setting a hand on her shoulder, and she responds by smiling at the Awoken. “Why’re you up?”

_“Bed felt empty; I could ask you the same thing.”_

“Can’t sleep, my brain doesn’t wanna shut up.”

_“I suppose that’s to be expected.”_

They sit in silence for a while, simply content in each other’s presence, before she speaks up again. “How do you channel your light?”

Tae smiles softly, and offers her partner her palms, facing upwards. Cautiously, she lays her hands atop the Awoken’s and closes her eyes as she feels a soft tugging at her mind.

And then there’s a voice.

_“Can you hear me?”_ It asks, and after a moment she recognises it as Tae’s voice, rich and powerful while somehow soft and breathy.

_“Yeah- how in the hells do you do this stuff Taea?”_ She replies, somehow.

There’s a little laugh in response, both in this strange bond-talk and in the physical realm. _“I’m not really sure myself, Ikora has all but given up on trying to explain it. Regardless, do you have any weapon you think you could channel your Light through? It’s far easier to start that way, rather than jumping into form creation.”_

Suraya pauses- _“I have my knives, I suppose?”_ Tige transmatts them into her hands, sandwiched between their palms.

“ _Now focus only on the knives. Let everything else fade away. Visualise flames along the blade edge, picture the heat against your palms, dancing across your skin._ ”

Her hands feel warm, a somehow pleasant sensation, and when she opens her eyes there’s flames dancing along the sharp edge.

“I – can’t believe it.” The flames withdraw and Suraya leans against the other Guardian, who pulls her closer with one arm. Blue lips smile at her when their eyes meet, and she can feel sleep finally claiming her. “You’re a good teacher… y’know.” Tired fingers reach up to poke the Awoken’s cheek, and Tae catches her hand, pressing a kiss against tanned fingers.

“Sleep, Sura.” 

It’s the next morning, after the sun has started its ascent into the sky, when she wakes again. She’s back in Tae’s bed, somehow (she’s pretty sure she fell asleep on the roof last night), while the Awoken busies herself with brewing a kettle of tea across the room. The warm light of early morning shines through the one functional window, casting the space in hues of orange and amber, and Tige bumps against her side when she stirs properly. Tae wanders over and she props herself up, taking the offered cup of tea and letting her eyes close in contentment.

“What time is it?” She asks, watching as the other Guardian has her armour transmatted in, obviously ready to get going.

“ _Six_.” Is the signed response, and Suraya groans slightly, startling Tae. “ _There’s a lot we have to sort out today.”_

“Yeah I know, my body just doesn’t want to wake up.” At the look the Awoken gives her – “Give me a moment.”

Tae smiles, sitting down at the end of the bed and laying her cloak on her lap, taking out a needle and thread. Unelema transmatts in a long, thick strip of silky red fabric and she positions it to the left of her cape, the width of crimson hanging lower than the cut-off of the black fabric. She starts to stitch on the accent while Suraya slowly rouses properly, finishing off the tea and grimacing through the odd sensation of Tige switching her clothing to her regular attire through transmat.

“What’s that red mean?” She asks curiously, hopping off the bed just as Taevas finishes her work, holding up the expanse of fabric as if to study it.

Unelema chimes in – “It’s from Ghaul. He had these weird ribbon things, like an unfinished cape or something, and what’s a better way to scare off the Legion than wearing something taken from their leaders’ corpse?”

Tae laughs and sets the cape into place around her shoulders, signing; _“Way to make this sound morbid, El.”_

“Well, it kind of is.” The Ghost makes a sound close to a snort, before bumping affectionately into the Awoken’s forehead. “I wouldn’t take you any other way.”

Suraya sheaths her knives at her waist, offering her hand to Taevas. “Where are we needed?”

_“Zavala’s called a meeting for seven in the Barn, and Devrim is coming over from Trostland this afternoon. Thought you’d want to get some breakfast first.”_ She nods and leans against Tae, making a content sound in her throat.

“We best get going then.”

It’s an hour later that the Vanguard starts to filter into the Barn. Ikora is first, then Cayde and Zavala (at the same time, together, suspiciously), the three women in the room sharing knowing looks. The Commander clears his throat, redirecting their focus towards whatever it is he wishes to talk about. Tae’s hand is solid against Suraya’s own as Zavala thanks them for their efforts the night before, running through the bare bones plan they have for the future.

Maintaining the Farm, both as a temporary refugee camp and a long-term human centre, is their top priority. It will take time to reclaim the City from the remnant Cabal forces, even longer to repair the devastation, and, in the meantime, the Farm is the best bet to keep humanity safe. City reconstruction will focus on major population structures and vital infrastructure, and the inference is clear – make sure the people have a safe, secure and fulfilling place to live.

“Establishing contact with the factions is also a pressing matter.” Suraya raises an eyebrow, and she can feel Tae give her hand a reassuring squeeze. “They have access to large quantities of resources that will greatly aid our efforts, and I have already managed to contact Executor Hideo of New Monarchy. Which reminds me..” Zavala turns to face her, and she shifts upwards, correcting her posture. “I understand that the two of you have some.. _history_.”

Suraya separates her hand from her partners with a final squeeze, before leaning forward and bracing her arms on the central table. “I’d presume it’s all in my file.”

“It is.” The Commander acknowledges. “But I’d like to hear it from you.”

She shrugs, just as Louis flies in and settles on her outstretched arm. “You need to understand, Zavala, that the factions do nothing for the people of the City. People in the Lower City have nothing more than the clothes on their back, and sometimes not even that. I’ve seen it all first hand.” Louis hops onto her shoulder, watching the Vanguard before them with careful eyes. “Most of those assault charges were protecting people. You ever seen a mob of Monarchy lackeys swarm a civilian?” The silence gives her an answer. “Once saw a young boy, 8 or so, shot before I could reach him. His crime? Stealing a book from a Monarchy officer. He wanted to learn how to read, and he was murdered for it. I was 15 when I carried his body back to his parents and baby sister.”

She pulls down the fabric of her poncho around her neck, revealing a perfectly symmetrical, circular scar. “Future War Cult shot – got caught stealing supplies to help the starving parents of five down the street. I’ve had multiple broken bones from the Factions, including when I had to ‘assault’ Hideo.” She rubs her right fist with the fingers of her other hand, the inferred meaning clear. “I guess it isn’t on file that he was threatening me?”

The room is silent when she leans against the table once again. “I was never technically allowed to leave the City, but I had no choice. There was a very clear implication that, if I were to remain, things would start ‘going wrong’ for my parents. The factions controlled the City. If you went against them, you started having issues. Or worse, you’d _disappear_.”

Taevas approaches behind her, setting a comforting hand on Suraya’s shoulder. “Does that address your concerns, Commander?”

Zavala chuckles – a deep, baritone sound. “Indeed it does.” Louis hops over onto Taevas’ shoulder, and the Awoken busies herself with petting him, the falcon leaning into her gentle touch. “I presume you aren’t too keen on returning, then.”

She shrugs, earning a look from Tae. “Depends.” Honestly, she’s been struggling with her future plans ever since her relationship with Tae developed. At first, she saw her role as temporary, until the refugees were safe and someone else could take over. And, after all, she doesn’t particularly want to confine herself to the City, but the thought of leaving her w- whatever they are- behind tenses up her chest and sends a pang of hurt through her heart. And then there’s Tige, and questions about what she is now, Guardian or not. “The City hasn’t been my home for a long time.”

“Could it be your home now?”

She crosses her arms – “Why, do you want it to be?”

“The civilians look up to you. You’re a natural leader to them, and we’ll need that connection in the coming months.” She raises an eyebrow, questioningly.

“What would my role be?”

“Clan steward? Liaison for humanity? We’ll need to work out the exact details.”

Suraya pauses for a moment, until Tae sets an arm around her back, and she returns the unspoken words by wrapping an arm around the Awoken’s waist. “I imagine we can work something out.”

It’s around noon when Devrim finally arrives. Taevas and Hawthorne are leaning against each other on the latter’s usual perch, with a sandwich each, simply allowing themselves to relax in the daytime warmth. Suraya smiles, passing a piece of crust to Louis who crows out quietly in thanks. They haven’t made any official announcements about their relationship yet, but there’s an agreement between the two of them that it isn’t a secret. The teasing from Cayde and Amanda, plus the warm looks and questioning glances sent their way confirms to them that most people already know, or at least have some suspicions.

It’s nice to be this openly affectionate with someone, she thinks, as her partner taps her shoulder and nods to an incoming ship. She finishes off her meal and jumps to the ground, Tae following her, and their hands find each other’s once again, tan and cerulean fingers linking together as they walk. By the time they reach the ship a familiar head of greying hair pokes up from behind the hull, offering her a grin when she jogs over, pulling him into a tight hug. “’m glad you’re okay.”

He laughs, patting her on the head as he used to when she was younger. “Why wouldn’t I be? You wouldn’t let me go into the field.”

“Yeah ‘cause I needed you here if everything went to shit, you know that. Thought you’d be glad. You’re getting too old for proper combat.”

“Too old!” Is the mock-offended response. She can feel Tige transmat in by her shoulder, and Tae approaches behind her with Unelema, a beat of silence passing between them. “Whose ghost is that?” She bites her lower lip, trying to figure out how to explain. “Suraya…”

“She’s mine. Look, I think we need to find somewhere to talk, properly.”

They find the privacy they need near the Farm’s borders, propped up on an old fence with a panning view of the EDZ before them. “So you’re telling me you’re a Guardian now.”

“Yeah, kinda?” She replies, unsure. “We’re still really trying to figure it out ourselves.”

“Well, at least I was right about one thing.” He chuckles – “You’ve always been a Hunter.”

“Who said I’m a Hunter?”

“What other class would you be? You’re certainly no Warlock.” Taevas sets her hand over Suraya’s where it rests on the fence, and she leans against the Awoken’s shoulder. Devrim grins over at her – “You finally figured it out.”

Hawthorne shrugs – “Tae was the one to get of her ass and do something ‘bout it.”

Tae smiles over at her, bringing Suraya’s hand to her lips and pressing a kiss against her fingers - Devrim’s grin only grows. “Marc is going to be hurt if you don’t let him plan your wedding, y’know.”

It’s many hours later, with the full moon shining above the Farm, that Suraya and Tige are finally alone again.

The day has been long – through organising teams to start clearing the City, to casualty reports and everything in between – and by now she’s almost ready to fall asleep. But Tae had insisted in going off to the Dark Forest, alone, pressing a large box into Hawthorne’s arms with a knowing smile and promising to be back by dawn-break. The box – currently sat in front of her, on her (their?) bedroom floor, is beautiful, really. It’s dark wood, intricately carved, slightly worn but still obviously very well cared for.

She carefully undos the lock system and opens the lid, frowning as it’s contents are revealed. It’s rows upon rows of little bottles, with a couple of smaller boxes nested inside. Lifting up one of the pots, she realises what they are – paints. The one she’d picked up – a deep, slightly dulled blue colour – is labelled Prussian Blue in the tight neat script she identifies as Tae’s, and she slots it back into place, studying the bottles before her by the swatches of colour on their lids.

A small piece of folded parchment is tucked into a space at the edge of the box and she unfurls it, revealing more of the same black cursive;

“Dear Suraya,

It’s a tradition for Guardians to paint their ghost’s shell after a few days together, and I thought you’d like to use some of my paints for it. Tige should be able to help you set her pattern, so just pick a colour or two that you think matches her.

Love you, Taevas.”

She shakes her head in mock exasperation as Tige floats over and lightly bumps into her shoulder (they’re still adjusting to being affectionate with each-other) then floats down onto her Guardian’s lap.

“I have one I think you’ll like.” Her Ghost says softly, and Suraya looks down to see the pattern on her shell shift, still in the same tones of white and blue. She scoops up her companion, finding the new design to be some kind of an outline of a wilderness scene – the bottom ridges are decorated with snow-topped mountains, simplified trees slotted into place below them. There’s a sky too – sun and clouds, little birds in flight.

She smiles down at her Ghost. “It’s perfect, thank you Tige.” Leaning over to look at the selection of paints, she picks out a few colours – a light, steel blue for the sky, grey for the mountains and a soft orange for the sun. Then a white – a strange, slightly chrome white with tiny hints of pink and gold – for the outlines. Rummaging through the smaller boxes, she finds a set of soft brushes, and she picks out a couple, before turning back to her Ghost. “How do I-“

Tige seems to understand her unspoken question, nudging Hawthorne’s palm slightly with a spine. “Just take whatever paint you want to use and dip the brush in there.” Following her instruction, she unscrews the cap from the blue – Sky, it’s label aptly reads – and dips the brush in, as she’s seen Taevas do before. “And then just paint where you want it, you’ll see.” She does just that – cautiously brushing the tone across the metal of Tige’s shell and watching in awe as it spreads by itself, evenly covering the surface in a perfect layer.

“How?”

Tige shrugs as well as she can, considering her lack of shoulders. “Nobody really questions it. We can change our shaders ourselves, but most of the time our Guardians paint us. As a show of friendship.”

Hawthorne is still awed as she finishes her work, and by the end Tige floats up above her palm, spines of her shell twirling about as she seemingly inspects it. “I love it, thank you Suraya!” She chirps, and the Hunter smiles upon hearing her Ghost say her name for the first time.

That night she doesn’t sleep very well, watching the Shard and it’s Forest as she flicks through reports, waiting for Taevas to come home while Tige rests by her side.

But, she thinks, it’s going to be okay.

It’s been a little while since the Assault when Suraya gets a call from Devrim.

He’d gone into the City the other day, intent on bringing Marc back to the Farm as soon as possible, and, according to the report she’d read probably five times over, had found him in one of the inner City emergency bunkers. It’d been a moment of pure relief when she’d initially got the report soon, but now dread wells up within her. Not only has she not spoken to Marc in years, but she’s also going to have to deal with hundreds of questions about her and Tae’s relationship. Her dad is far too romantic, and there’s no way Dev hasn’t told him yet.

When her comm rings she takes a deep, steadying breath, and answers. “Dad?”

“Suraya! It’s so good to hear from you.” Its Marc’s voice – joyful and overexcited, as always. “I hear you have a lot of stories to tell me.”

She laughs – nervously – fingers picking at the skin of her arm. “That’s.. uh. One way of putting it.”

Marc carries on, undeterred. “I hope I’m going to meet this girlfriend of yours soon, I’ve heard so much about her! Of course, you of all people would properly find someone the one time I can’t interrogate them.”

“Please don’t interrogate her.”

“Oh but I have to. Especially with your track record of partners.”

“Dad, please.”

Dev takes over the call again – “Sorry about that, you know how he gets.”

“Too well.”

“He does have a point though, and you know he won’t give up till he meets her.”

She sighs in defeat. “Send me a time.”

It’s a wonder that a restaurant is even open in the City at this point, Suraya thinks, but it’s good for the purposes of this meeting, at least. They arrive first, before her dads, taking a table next to the big, old-style windows. She doesn’t particularly like being exposed to a major security vulnerability like a traditional window, but she knows Tae is comforted by the view of open space.

And right now Tae needs any comfort Suraya can provide her with. She sees the other Hunter’s eyes occasionally flicker around, feels her fingers flex against Suraya’s own where their hands are linked. Taevas might not allow herself to display her emotions that much, but as soon as you spend enough time around her to learn her tells, the little movements start to make sense.

“Relax,” she murmurs. “He’ll love you. He has to.”

Tae makes a non-committal sound and instead goes back to watching the room, Suraya continuing to offer silent comfort by rubbing circles into cerulean knuckles.

The sound of the entrance doors opening has them both turning their heads, and Suraya stands to return the hug offered to her by Marc. “Look at you! You’re all grown up!” He exclaims, and she wrinkles her nose in disgust.

When he notices Taevas, his attention shifts. “You must be Taevas.” Tae tenses a little, offering him a curt nod and her hand to shake. He laughs heartily – “There’s no need for any of that unless you already have something to apologise for.”

Tae seems startled by the idea, simultaneously twitching and shaking her head vigorously as if offended by the very suggestion.

“Dad, _please_. You’re already creeping her out.”

When they take a seat and order, Suraya keeps her hand linked with Tae’s. Marc quickly takes to asking the Awoken simpler questions that she can answer with a nod or head shake, or by signing and getting her to translate. It really isn’t an ideal arrangement, but Marc seems satisfied that Tae isn’t a prick like most of her past partners.

“So what’s the plan for the future?” He asks her, and she shrugs.

“City restoration, obviously. Transferring those who want to leave the Farm back over.”

“You know that’s not what I meant. What're the future plans for both of you?”

“Zavala’s offered me a position as leader of the Clans, so we’re probably going to settle in the City, the new Tower if there’s going to be one. And from there… we’ll figure it out as we go along, I suppose.”

“Still hate plans?”

“More… an improviser. Besides, it’s worked pretty well for me so far.” She smiles over at Tae, her meaning clear.

That night, under a canopy of a thousand stars, the topic comes up again.

She’s leant against Tae’s shoulder as the Awoken creates messy braids in her curls when her mind drifts back to the conversation from earlier.

“What are we going to do when the City is rebuilt?”

Tae frowns down at her, before signing – “ _We’ll figure it out as we go along as you said_.”

“Yeah but-“ She makes a frustrated sound. “I’m probably gonna have to stay at the Tower a lot, or at least I presume so, and I don’t wanna hold you back. I don’t want you to end up staying in the City just to please me.”

_“I’ve seen the System. I’ve seen the stars. I never found meaning out there, no matter how many planets I visited, enemies I killed. I never felt home.”_

The Awoken’s hand comes up to rest on her cheek. _“I’m done playing the hero. I’ve found my home.”_

It’s been approaching half a year since the War’s end when the new Tower is finally completed.

The construction had been put behind other, more essential reconstruction efforts – of key infrastructure, housing for personnel, the reestablishment of water and electricity grids – but even Suraya understands the symbolism of the Tower. It’s a beacon, a representation of the Guardians and the guidance they provide.

When the new Tower is finally opened, it’s a day of celebration. Guardians come in from across the System, Lightbearers and civilians alike sharing in the warmth of this new age, of the security it provides. Of finally being home.

She finds Tae in the midst of a group of civilians, all awed by the presence of the great Hero of the War. Suraya can tell she’s being asked a flurry of questions, Unelema fluttering over her shoulder and doing her best to answer them all. It’s comforting to see Taevas like this – safe, at ease. Comfortable with her environment and most importantly herself.

She sneaks up behind the other Hunter, carefully placing one of the decorative flower crowns being passed round atop her head. Tae smiles over at her, intertwining their hands as the remaining civilians wander off, aside from a small gaggle of still-awed children.

“Are you a Guardian too?” One of them asks, pushing forward to the front of the group. When she nods, the child grins. “Can we see your robot?”

Prompted, Tige pops into existence above her shoulder and drifts down to greet the children. “I’m Tige!” She chirps happily, dropping down to allow them to get a better look. “It’s nice to meet you!” The child who’d spoken up earlier carefully reaches out to brush Tige’s frame, grin growing when the Ghost accepts the contact.

Another of the children turns to the pair of Guardians who watch them. “Do you have magic?”

Suraya isn’t sure how to respond to that, still not confident enough with channelling her Light to use it around vulnerable children. Instead, she looks over at Tae, who crouches down as the remaining children push forward to crowd around her.

Familiar lightning spreads in fractals against her skin, pulsing Light crackling against the natural glow of her Awoken complexion. The Light gathers in her palm, forming an ethereal sphere of blue-white energy.

The children’s eyes grow ‘til they’re the size of saucers, watching in awe as the Light coalesces into the form of the Traveler, then transforming into a Ghost, then a heavenly bird. Suraya smiles as she watches them interact, slightly awed alongside the children.

Tae nudges her slightly when her brain autopilots the route to their ship, tugging on her hand to direct her attention.

Instead of following the familiar route to the Wanderwing, Tae leads her to what Suraya knows are the new barracks, her brain stuttering slightly at the realisation. “Taea…” She trails off as they stop in front of a door, the Awoken turning to her and gesturing for her to close her eyes. She does so, and after a moment she can hear the whoosh of an opening door and a tap on her shoulder.

She opens her eyes.

The first thing she sees is Taevas, standing slightly nervously. Then she takes in the rest of the room.

Directly in front of her is a small living area, soft brown and blue chairs and a sofa gathered around a tv with large windows draped in curtains providing a beautiful view of the City. She turns to Tae, still shocked, the other Hunter retaking her hand reassuringly. She’s lead through an archway to a kitchen/diner, dark wood and light tile against soft grey walls that frame the small kitchen and well-sized dining table. A small bathroom, next, then back into the hallway.

It’s only then that Suraya notices some more of the decoration – plants grace nearly every surface, while a sideboard is topped with a couple unpacked boxes and small mementos. A bookshelf fills a nook in the passage, already stacked with ancient-looking tomes and newer datapads. It feels like home already, she realises.

A spare bedroom, still spartan in its decoration. A small study. And finally, their room.

She’d describe it as huge, but it’s not, really. Large windows line the two outer facing walls, including a door out to a balcony. An expansive bed is tucked into one corner, low to the ground and already piled with Tae’s favoured soft blankets and pillows. A television is set into place above a dark-wood dresser, while a plush armchair faces out the curtained windows. Soft grey walls are already mounted with paintings, which she realises happily are Tae’s own works. The carpet beneath her feet is soft, dark grey, beautifully warm.

Through the windows she can watch as the sun sets over the City, framing the Traveler in rings of familiar amber and gold.

Tae comes to stand by her side, the Awoken shifting nervously. “Do you like it?” She asks in a quiet tone, and Suraya grins.

“It’s perfect, Taea.” The other Hunter’s hands come to rest around her waist, and she twists in the embrace to face up at Tae. “We’re finally home.”

Tae leans forward to connect their lips, and they part after a moment. The Awoken relinquishes her hold on Suraya’s waist to sign, but Hawthorne remains pressed against the other. “ _Home is wherever you are.”_

Suraya snorts – unladylike, she knows, but that never concerned her before – and wraps her arms around the other Guardian’s neck. “Of all the people in the cosmos to make you cheesy, it had to be me, didn’t it?”

Tae smiles down at her – a beautiful radiant thing, filled to the brim with pure emotion. _“Who else?”_

Suraya carefully shifts in bed, careful not to jostle Tae too much from where their limbs are intertwined, nor where the Awoken’s arms wrapped protectively around her. Once detangled from her lover, she slips out from under the thick layers of blankets and quilts, she quietly pads out of the room.

She lets out a quiet sign of relief at seeing Louis on his perch, napping contently after his hunt. The transition from the Wilds to the City has been hard on them both – it’s their home, after all – but he seems to be adjusting. Slowly, at least.

Herself, on the other hand?

She’s not sure – the increased safety is welcome, in the very least, but at what expense? Never before has she felt so confined, so trapped. And while her opinions of the City have improved recently, she still stands by some of her older beliefs.

You know what also has walls, that you can’t leave?

She properly comes to when she feels a fat droplet of water hit her cheek, and she looks up. She’s somehow made her way to the balcony that annexes their room, letting the harsh winds and stormy weather calm her.

Out here she can pretend, at least – pretend that the smell of rain and the reddening of her cheeks against the biting winds is enough of a substitute for the burn of the Wilds. She sighs deeply, before heading back inside to get dressed properly, slinging her poncho over her shoulders, holstering sunshot at her waist and pressing a kiss to Taevas’ forehead.

Once she takes the elevator down the Tower and the apartments lining its floors, she steps out into the City. While a lot of it is still in ruin, most of the central areas surrounding the Tower are fully reconstructed now.

There aren’t many people out – a combination of the late timing and the bad weather – but she doesn’t mind. She traces streets outwards, past partially reconstructed buildings and out into the proper ruins, before she reaches the Wall.

The FotC stationed at the top of the Wall pay her no mind once Tige shimmers into existence to trail her over the shoulder. She pauses at the railing, leaning heavily on it as she watches the rain drench the Wilds.

“Wanna talk about it?” A voice asks – Tige’s – as her Ghost hovers, the flicker of her shell somehow portraying her worry.

“’s nothing.”

Tige’s shell manoeuvres in an obvious show of that’s bullshit before nudging against her wet cheek. “You feel trapped.”

She huffs – “… yeah.”

“Why’d you agree to stay here?”

“I dunno.” She shifts uncomfortably. “I didn’t wanna risk being separated from Tae.”

“She would’ve followed you anywhere.”

“Yeah, but.. This is where she feels safest. And above anything I want her to feel safe, be safe. Does that make sense?”

Her Ghost chirps happily, bumping against her shoulder. “I’m glad you’re happy. I always worried that my Guardian would be lonely – and, well, my first one was.”

“You never told me about the one you had before..”

Her shell droops sadly, and Suraya reaches over to gently poke the tip of a spine affectionately. “I failed him.”

“If you were anywhere near as good to him as you are to me, then no, you didn’t.”

A sound comes through Tige’s speaker that sounds almost like a sniffle, and Hawthorne holds out her palm to let the little robot nest her shell there. “His name was Beverick. Beverick-9. I found him in the depths of the EDZ, after a lifetime of searching.”

Suraya keeps focused on the Ghost in her hands, rubbing little reassuring circles into coloured metal as Tige continues. “He was a Hunter, too. Had issues with other people, so we kept to ourselves. Carved out a place for ourselves away from the other Guardians, tried our best to find meaning.”

“How’d you end up in the City, then?”

“When the invasion happened and we got the emergency broadcast, he rushed to help. We were in the City within the hour. Then we lost the Light…”

Tige trails off, and Hawthorne holds her Light to her chest, in a hopefully comforting gesture. “You didn’t fail him.”

“But..”

“Ah, ah, no. Listen. A lot of people died that day, a lot of innocent people, a lot of people I once knew. I used to blame the Guardians for it, back in the early War. Magical space powers for what? Didn’t save anybody… But that was wrong of me.”

She holds up Tige, affixing her with a look to prove to her Ghost that she’s serious. “The only things at fault for the Fall were the Legion. And they’ve paid for it and will continue to pay for it. His death was as much your fault as mine, or Zavala’s, or any of the people in this City.”

Tige’s voice sounds strained like if she could be she’d be on the edge of tears, or perhaps crying already. “I don’t want to fail you.”

“You won’t.” She promises.

She nudges open the door to her apartment, careful not to make to much noise. Not that it matters, considering Tae is already up.

The Awoken sits crosslegged on the sofa with a view of the City, the golden rays of dawn washing over her skin matching the tone of her eyes. Those eyes flicker to meet her when she shrugs off her poncho and discards it on the back of a chair.

“You’re back late.”

Suraya makes a non-committal sound, wrapping her arms around the other Hunter’s shoulders as she leans over the back of the sofa. “Didn’t mean to worry you, sorry. Just needed a bit of space to think.”

“I know.” At the look Hawthorne gives her – “Tige sent a message. Figured you’d be back when you felt comfortable.”

“Mhmm, love you.”

“I’d hope so. Your tea’s on the side.”

Suraya hates the idea of this Restoration ball.

It sounds stupid, quite frankly. A waste of money just so people who hate each other and had no role in the War can make idle conversation and wear fancy clothes. Unfortunately for her, however, her role in the War and afterwards, plus Taevas’ rank, means that she pretty much has to attend.

Before the full-length mirror in Ikora’s apartment, she can hardly recognise herself. Her outfit is over the top, yes, but still beautiful and somehow still her (as much as a formal dress can be).

Eva made it herself, and it shows – a deep purple dress tied tightly around her waist and draping over her legs, soft golden constellations sewed into the lower skirt. A cape wraps around one exposed shoulder, beautiful white, purple and gold layers that drift to the floor in a hem the shape of flower petals.

The headpiece was commissioned elsewhere, but it’s just as stunning – a gold tiara of sorts, handcrafted flowers set into place near the back. And wrapped carefully in intricate gold branches are an identical pair of antlers – genuine, she knows from experience. It’s gaudy, yeah, especially when combined with the simple gold jewellery around her neck and wrists, but the effect is still stunning. Especially with her hair worn in its natural curls around her shoulders, a touch of glitter highlighting her face.

Like this, she looks like some kind of forest fae, like the ones in the pre-Golden Age books Tae has scrounged up for some of the City kids. Maybe that’s thinking too much of herself, but hey, she never really gets the chance to be vain, and if she’s going to have to parade around in fancy dress she might as well embrace it.

There’s a knock at the door which Ikora answers with a knowing smile, and Suraya’s breath catches in her throat at the sight of Tae.

The base of the Awoken’s outfit is rather simple – a white dress shirt and black trousers, but the details are exquisite. The shirt is obviously tailored, fitting perfectly against her frame, arms and the top panel of the torso slightly transparent and patterned with thin golden lines. The cape set over her shoulders isn’t her usual – instead, it’s an expanse of purple that matches the hue of Suraya’s dress, decorated with golden constellations and stars orbiting around her sigil – the sun with a slash across it, this time in shimmering pseudo-metal rather than white.

Taevas looks like a different person, like this. Part of the Awoken royalty, perhaps, or some kind of deity. Though she supposes as they drift together, that is the intended effect. She’ll probably be the centre of attention tonight, though whether that attention is wanted or not is a different matter entirely.

The ballroom stretches out before them from their position on the balcony. The size of the room is a frivolity, really, unnecessary in the wake of the War or even after the Collapse, but even Suraya can admit that the effect is stunning.

An outer wall is lined entirely with large windows that provide an expansive view of the City against the darkened night sky, while the room is lit up with lanterns that hang from the ceiling. Most of the space is cleared as a dance area, with most of the remnant crowds lining the walls.

One of Taevas’ hand's links with her own, and they begin their descent down to the main space.

Hideo, surprisingly, takes his time in approaching them.

They’ve staked out a small section of wall as their own, aware that many people will want to speak to Tae, to congratulate her, thank her, or get into her good graces and build up a political alliance. No matter the reason, their well-visited for about half an hour, and as Hideo approaches they silently agree that this is the last courtier they’ll entertain. What’s the point of all these fancy outfits if they can’t share a dance, after all.

Suraya tries to mask her displeasure at the man before them with a simple shift to correct her posture, Tae’s hand on her arm tightening reassuringly. Taevas acknowledges him with a nod, prompting him to come forward.

“I must say, Guardian, I’m surprised to see you in attendance. I didn’t pin you as a social attendee type.” He starts, a smug lilt to his voice. “Nor your _partner_.”

He stares, rather pointedly, straight at Suraya.

The hand on her arm tenses again as a warning to not react, as Taevas braces herself, obviously about to speak.

“Don’t push yourself.” She whispers over at the Awoken.

“Suraya is a Guardian now, Executor, and it would be appropriate for you to treat her as such.”

“As is the rumour. But forgive me for doubting the sense of putting someone so volatile in a position of power.”

Suraya decides then that that’s enough, formulating a response in her mind. “The issues we have should remain between us Hideo. Don’t burn bridges for your pride.”

“Hmph.”

The Awoken’s hand rests warm on the small of her back, heating her up as they press closer together to the melody of a beautiful Golden Age song. Suraya smiles up at her partner, grinning at the expression of pure love there.

“For all the people to look at me that way…” She trails off as Taevas pulls her closer and she pushes herself up on her toes to reach the Awoken’s lips. “It had to be you.” Is whispered into Tae’s lips as they part.

“Forever,” Tae responds quietly.

Suraya nods in assent, smiling softly. “Forever.”

They’re sat against each other in bed, Tae’s wrapped around her back with fingers carding through her hair until the hand in her curls withdraws and comes into her sight.

“You know what Marc said..”

“He says a lot of things.”

“About… that.” Suraya can hear a huff of frustration against her neck, feels the tickling of soft breath. “Would you ever… want to get married? Properly?”

Her breath catches in her throat, and she shuffles in Tae’s hold until she’s facing the Awoken. “Are you serious?” At the tiny nod of Tae’s head – “Of fucking course!”

She practically barrels against her partner’s chest, resulting in them both falling back on the bed, Suraya held against Tae’s chest as they hold onto each other as if their lives depend on it.

“I love you, Moon.” She mumbles into the Awoken’s chest.

“I love you too, Sura.”

Suraya takes a deep breath, eyeing the screen before her with equal parts excitement and trepidation. Tae nudges against her, the taller woman’s chin perched atop Hawthorne’s head. “Go on” is signed just within her view, and she reaches out to key in the frequency for her parents.

It rings for a few minutes, which they occupy with Tae messily braiding the back of Suraya’s curls and Hawthorne not admitting how much she loves the feeling.

“You should grow your hair out.” She admits, reaching up to run her fingers over the slight fuzz of her partner’s shaved head just as the call finally connects. They jump apart like guilty teenagers, and Marc’s laughter rings loudly through the connection.

“We can go if you want.” He laughs, and Suraya scowls, though it lifts a little when Tae shifts a cerulean arm to wrap around her waist.

The silence stretches out for a few moments as neither of them is sure what to say, until Taevas signs in front of her. _“You want to tell them?”_

“What’s going on?” It’s Dev this time, and he sounds concerned, worried, even. Suraya grins, knowing what their reactions will be.

“You know what you said about a wedding, dad?”

Dev only raises an eyebrow, but Marc’s eyes are wide with shock. “You’re serious?”

Suraya grins knowingly. “Don’t get too excited, we haven’t planned anything yet.”

“Hell yes, I’m going to be excited, holy- !”

Dev just watches Marc with an expression of exasperation. “Now you’ve set him off.”

It takes two weeks for them to announce it to anyone else.

Taevas is away on a mission, so Cayde is over in their apartment, the Exo sat on the island counter in the kitchen with his legs swinging to and fro. She smacks the metal hand that’s been sneaking closer to the saucepan with the back of a spoon and he attempts a pout, rubbing the affected area as if it’s sore.

She grimaces as he sniffs the sauce on the back of his hand and grins. “Gotta give it to ‘ya Poncho, you can cook.”

“Well someone has to teach you that there’s more to life than ramen.”

“Ah, ah! Ramen is and will always be my first love, don’t make me fight you.

“I’m telling Zavala that you love pasta more than him.” She points the spoon at him, mock-threateningly.

“You say that like he doesn’t already know.” He laughs, but seemingly deflates a little.

Suraya notices and frowns, distracting herself with dividing up the pasta, meatballs and sauce into two bowls and a larger container. She places Cayde’s bowl beside him on the island and nudges it closer, before propping herself up on the counter.

“For a robot, you sure are bad at hiding your emotions.”

He makes a discontented noise and starts picking at his food, obviously distracted.

“You know, I didn’t cook that just for you to pick at it while angsting away.” She gives him a serious look. “Either eat up or tell me what’s going on with you and Zavala.”

“Nothing… I just.” He grunts, frustrated. “I don’t know.” She raises an eyebrow at him, and he goes back to picking at his food. “I just don’t know if we’re on the same page when it comes to our relationship,” His shoulders sag a little. “You get what I mean?”

“You spoken to him about it?”

He gives her a bewildered look. “That’s your suggestion?”

“Well have you?” He’s silent, which she takes as a no. “Believe me, you’ll never be able to work through any issues you have if you can’t discuss them with him.”

“He’ll think I’m being stupid though. All the problems we have right now, a city in ruins and our ranks pretty much empty, and the thing I’m concerned about is a tiny discrepancy in a relationship?”

“Hey.” She pokes him to get his attention. “Let's be real here, what can you do, at this moment, to fix any of the big issues we’re facing? Nothing. But when you go home you can walk through those doors and walk into your boyfriend’s arms and tell him ‘I love you’ and ask him ‘where do you want this relationship to go’ and I promise you it’ll be fine.”

She pats Cayde on the head and laughs at his thoughtful expression. “Damn I’m getting good at this advice thing.”

The other Hunter offers her a small smile. “Yeah, you’ll be giving even Tae a run for her money soon.”

“Where do you think I get it from? Hell, the only reason I can go off on a spiel about communication is because of what happened the other week.”

Cayde raises a pseudo-eyebrow. “What happened the other week, Poncho?”

She grins, and Cayde leans forward a little. “Tae proposed, Chicken Man.”

“Hey!” He exclaims, Suraya jumping down as he discards his bowl and barrels down to try to grab her. _“Her name is Colonel!”_

Suraya sighs, rubbing at her eyes with the heel of her palm and blinking rapidly to clear the spots on her vision. Something had forced her awake, a nagging feeling of something being _wrong_ that had nudged her out of unconsciousness and into the dark room.

It’s Tae, she realises.

The Awoken is sat across the room from her, turning out to stare out the window with her eyes closed, up at the form of the Traveler where it floats above the City. In the moonlight and Traveler-light Suraya can just about see an object in Taevas’ hands – it’s black, a kind of concave shape and about the size of her face.

She stands, carefully, shifting off the layers of blankets that were atop her and pads over to where her wife sits. Now she’s closer, she can properly identify the object. It’s a mask, she realises (with equal parts fear and relief), smooth with sharp edges and shining black in the moonlight. Cerulean fingers trace lightly over the edge of the surface, shaking slightly before stilling as Tae opens her eyes.

For a moment Suraya swears that they glowed pure white, but she’s not sure if it was a trick of the various light sources or not. Regardless, the Awoken now looks down at the mask in her hands, holding it upwards and tilting it this way and that to study it against the light flowing in from the window. Suraya coughs lightly, and Tae turns to face her, a small frown on her face.

“Where did that… come from?” She asks cautiously, and the Awoken glances down at the mask in her hands, before placing it back down onto her lap and raising her hands to sign –

_“It was just… Here.”_ She turns the mask in her hands, fingers tapping against the rim. “It’s mine, I know it is.”

Suraya leans over, carefully lifting the object from Tae’s hands and pushing it upwards to fit against the Awoken’s face. It slots into place perfectly, requiring no other mechanisms to secure it, and she smiles up at the surface. “It is.”

The realisation comes to her far later than it should have – after all, there’s only really been one prolific Guardian that wore a _very_ similar mask, and as far as anyone knows he’s dead, or at least missing.

“You’re the new Speaker.”

They approach Zavala about it the next morning and he insists on calling a Consensus meeting for that afternoon, so here they stand, before the small chamber. It’s at near-full occupancy today, an uncommon occurrence, with the leaders of the three Factions, the full Vanguard and Lord Shaxx all in attendance.

Zavala, as acting head of the Consensus, introduces the session and outlines the basic agenda, before explaining why exactly Tae stands before them, silent as ever. The proposition that she takes over the Speaker’s old duties goes over surprisingly well – most of them know her as the Hero of the War, if not by any of her previous achievements – and those that know her more personally are aware that she wouldn’t deceive them on something this important.

The only objection is Hideo, who’d done his best to make his displeasure at the proposal clear throughout, stammering to interject and making disgusted facial expressions that had Suraya mentally rolling her eyes in response. His complaints are all but ignored, however, as when it comes time to vote he doesn’t formally raise an objection (likely too afraid of going against the majority, how typical), and Tae takes her place at the head of the Consensus.

That night they sit together up on the roof of the Tower, tucked away in one of the out-of-sight spots that the veteran Hunters all know of, content to simply lie against each-other and watch the stars glimmer above them, just out of reach. Almost half an hour passes in the pleasant quiet, until Tae speaks up.

Her voice wavers slightly, but not from fear or upset she knows – instead it’s the lack of pretence, no false bravado to intimidate or make herself seem powerful. Still, Suraya is a little concerned, her fear only assuaged by the small smile on Tae’s face.

“I’m surprised I’ve survived this long, fighting as I was with both eyes closed.” Suraya blinks over at her in confusion, and Tae turns to stare at the form of the Traveler. “I’ve always been single-minded – a one-track mind, you could say, but I’ve had my mind opened to the blinders I’ve been wearing since I Awoke.”

The Awoken’s hand comes to rest over her own, and Suraya turns it in her hold, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “That was why I was drawn to you, perhaps – you had- _have_ , she corrects herself – truly seen the horrors of the System, and have emerged all the stronger for it.”

“When you watched the safe façade of our City fall away, you didn’t freeze like I did – instead, you expected it almost, perhaps only unconsciously. You emerged from the fire, the ashes of everything I once had, and like a phoenix you rose and rose, till there was nothing left above you, nothing left that could harm you.”

Suraya frowns slightly at the implied degradation of Tae, and interrupts – “Who was it that killed Ghaul again?”

Tae laughs quietly, though there’s a hurt edge to it. “The Traveler.” When she goes to interrupt again – “It chose me. I’m still not sure why, but I simply followed it’s Will.”

“So what you’re saying is it was you that killed Ghaul.” She waggles a finger at the Awoken in an imitation of one of her old aunt’s strange gesticulations. “Whatever reason it chose you for, it obviously chose well.”

Tae pulls her in for a hug, and Suraya can hear the deep breaths against her shoulder when an idea comes to her. “You say you don’t know why it chose you, right?” At the nod she gets in response.

“You tried asking it?”

Suraya huffs, slinging her sniper across her back as she hops down the cliffface to rejoin her fireteam. Fieldwork is rare for her, but Cayde had apparently decided that she needed some time out in the Wilds, and hey, she’s not one to turn down a chance to leave the Tower.

So she’s out in the depths of the EDZ with Escupir and Mudra, constantly having to remind herself that she doesn’t need food, so there’s no need to be tuned into the background sound of a far-off stags strides, or that she can jump far higher now, no need to pick her way up a cliff, that-

She pauses, and so do the others.

“You feel that too, right?” She asks, voice hushed, and Escupir nods.

It’s a pinprick of Light, a beacon in the otherwise stillness of the dead-zone. They carefully track it across the ruins of a pre-Collapse town, to a tiny store-room in one of the decaying buildings. And there-

There’s a child.

They’re tiny, no older than four at most. Their dark skin is dulled with dirt, short blonde hair messy, and bright blue eyes wide with fear, but otherwise they seem miraculously unharmed. As Suraya approaches her – crouched down, slowly, waiting for her to bolt, all in the manner in which you might approach a wild animal – the child relaxes, inching her way closer to the Hunter.

“Hey there little one.” She says quietly, trying not to scare the child. “Let’s get you somewhere safe, yeah?”

Surprisingly the child nods, clinging to Suraya’s neck as she’s lifted into the air and out of the store-room. The sight of the kid makes both Escupir and Mudra pause, before Escupir just shakes her head, exasperated.

“At this point I don’t even question this stuff.”

By the time she arrives back at the _Wanderwing_ , the child has fallen asleep in her arms.

From what Suraya can tell she’s female, and her initial guess of four years old seems pretty accurate. She hasn’t given up her tight hold of the Hunter’s poncho since she dozed off, so when Hawthorne transfers her to one of the seats aboard the ship she has to pry the child’s fingers off the garment.

This, of course, wakes the child up.

Surprisingly she doesn’t start crying, or anything of the sort. Suraya doesn’t have much experience with kids, but from what she can tell they tend to be _loud_ , and she’s not sure whether this one’s calmness is concerning or a relief.

What she is sure of is that she needs to get the kid back to the City as quickly as possible.

She hurries around the ship, prepping systems for flight as Tige alternates between helping her and watching the strange child huddled up in the co-pilot seat. _“Hey Sura?”_ Tige murmurs over their bond, optic still on the young one. _“I think she’s cold_.”

Suraya pauses to watch the child for a few moments, and sure enough her arms tremor slightly with the force of a shiver, the basic cotton trousers and short-sleeved top she’s wearing not enough to protect her from the cold of the ship’s climate-controlled air. “Ah, fuc-.” She mutters to herself, before turning to Tige. “Can you pull a cloak from my Vault from here?”

“I should be able to, give me a moment.”

In the meantime, Suraya drifts over to the dashboard, where the little plush Louis Tae had made for her rests. “Kids like toys, right?” She mutters to herself, when Tige trills triumphantly, transmatting one of Eva’s famously soft Dawning cloaks into her arms.

She approaches the child with the cloak-turned-blanket and plush in hand, carefully arranging the cloak around the kid’s shoulders and offering her the mini-Louis. The child blinks up at her in what she chooses to interpret as gratitude, taking the plush and cradling it against her chest.

They arrive at the Tower an hour later, and the moment they touch down in the hangar the child is slowly pulling herself out of the seat. Suraya watches carefully, ready to intervene if she shows signs of falling, but instead, once on her feet, she just clings to the armrest and looks up at Suraya.

“Right little one.” She murmurs, psyching herself up for the barrage of questions she’s inevitably going to face once she steps off the gangplank with a child in her arms. “Would you like me to carry you?” At her nod, Suraya reaches down and lifts the child up by her armpits, bringing her to rest on her hip. She still hasn’t let go of her grip on the plush or the cloak, and huddles close to the Hunter’s side.

“Time to face the music I suppose.” She mutters, taking the first step down the gangplank.

After a quick medical, in which the child is declared to be in surprisingly good health, it’s decided that she should stay with Suraya and Tae for the time being, until they can figure out the situation.

Tae’s still on duty so Suraya takes the child back to their apartment to get settled in. They have a spare room, but it’s far too spartan to be comfortable for such a young child, so instead she gets her settled in the lounge, piling up the sofa with spare cushions and duvets alongside the Dawning cape.

Despite her earlier sleepiness the child doesn’t seem tired, so she follows Suraya around silently as she makes spaghetti for dinner, and she happily accepts the cooled-down portion the Guardian offers her. She seems to be slowly coming out of her shell – she hasn’t spoken yet, but she’d asked for yoghurt for dessert and helped to clean up after dinner, as best as she could.

“Do you have a name?” Suraya asks her carefully, and her head rises from where it’d been nestled along Suraya’s side. The response is simple – a head shake, no pause needed – and Suraya frowns. “Would you like one? Just for now, I mean.” This time the child nods and the Hunter pulls her closer.

“What about… Eyas?”


End file.
